Whispers in the bayou... Another sun set behind the penitentiary walls, and the filth of Laveau grew thicker. Whispers spread that someone nearly laced a dinner date with ambrosia, offering a taste of oblivion in exchange for loyalty or leverage. Over at the Den, a regular’s absence started to draw too many questions—some say the missing one didn’t flee, but vanished in plain sight. Meanwhile, a quiet exchange near the hangar left onlookers murmuring about illicit cargo spirited away beneath French curses. All the while, the Syndicate’s scales slid unseen beneath the surface, tightening their grip as folks eyed each other warily, careful not to say too much.
