Word on the street... Hathian’s shadows thickened yesterday, and the city’s pulse skipped a jagged beat. Whispers say the funeral turned into a battlefield—guns drawn, chaos erupting as grief twisted into rage. The dead lieutenant’s peace shattered by brawls and gunshots, leaving wounds both seen and unseen. Elsewhere, smoke curled from a liquor store fire, a woman barely escaped the flames, and fingers point to a deliberate spark in the strip mall’s underbelly. Rumor also rides the night of a ghostly robbery in some forsaken warehouse—doors left open, silence where alarms should scream. Hathian’s streets aren’t safe; trust is currency too costly to spend, and shadows have teeth tonight.
