Whispers in the bayou... ░▒░ Down at the Starlust, they say the one with cold eyes held tight to the other like a lifeline in that cramped, sweat-soaked room—arms firm, breath barely a whisper, waiting on the storm outside the cracked door. The quiet before the fight tasted like bourbon and fear. ░▒
▒░ But the fog didn’t just cling there—word from the Den is the shadows thickened, twisting darker with every step. Lights flickered low, and whispers turned restless, like the bayou’s curse tightening its grip on a town already bleeding secrets and sins. ░▒
░▒░ Deputy Thibodaux’s stare lingered long after the tale passed, eyes sharp but silent, like he’s weighing what’s left unspoken—what’s coming crawling through the moss. What door stays closed, and which one’s about to swing wide? ░▒
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