Whispers in the bayou... ░▒░ Down at the docks, they say the woman in the faded blue dress sat stiff as the murky tide, watching laughter and light dance around her while she lay trapped in silence—her breath caught somewhere between dreams and memory, alone beneath the hanging moss. The others, flushed with smoke and bourbon, spun their world far out of reach. ░▒
▒░ But the fog thickened even past the pier, curling through alleyways and whispered deals—day three of its creeping pattern, swallowing more than just the night. The Syndicate’s grip tightens, their claws sinking under the cracked boards of this rotting town, secrets traded like currency beneath every flicker of neon and every slip of a tongue. ░▒
░▒░ Mama Celestine’s quiet glance toward the back door said it all—no words, just a slow blink heavy with knowing. What’s buried under the marina, the Ledger hints, is more than rust and broken promises. ░▒
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