Whispers in the bayou... ░▒░ Down at the docks, the man with the worn leather jacket laughed hard, though it strained his breath, eyes flicking sharp when he spotted the slender shadow he called doll. A quick kiss, whispered thanks to the dark-haired woman with steady hands, then the nod—“grab the bag, from the bed.” The night hung thick, sweat and promises curling beneath the streetlamps’ yellow glow. ░▒
▒░ And that wasn’t the only stirring—rumors drift through the Den of strange lights slicing the fog, flickering like restless spirits. It’s the fifth night folks say the bayou’s watching, tightening its grip as the Serpent’s veins pulse with something darker, restless, something itching to break free. ░▒
░▒░ Deputy Thibodaux caught wind, his gaze tightening toward the door; silence weighs heavy when the shadows speak. Whispers say the question isn’t who’s next—but what’s coming for us all. ░▒
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