Word on the street... Another day’s shadows stretched across Hathian, whispering secrets through the alleyways and neon-lit windows. Word on the street is that a spat outside the infamous motel spilled crimson—a blade flashed, fists flew, and by the time blue lights strobed the curb, more than pride lay bruised; someone took a kick hard enough to forget their own name, another ended up in hospital, and a third traded freedom for steel bars. In dim cells, whispered provocations hinted at fragile warmth, while rumors swirl about a clever law student caught in a web of extortion, coke, and betrayal—her silver tongue no match for mounting evidence. Trust grows thin; danger, thick. The city holds its breath.
