Whispers in the bayou... ░▒░ They say up on that cracked rooftop by the old shipyard, the man with the restless eyes danced a dangerous ballet—his moves half-muted, fighting not to hurt the bruised giant whose glare could cut glass. Sweat slicked his skin, breath sharp, heart pounding beneath the weight of more than just the humid air. ░▒
▒░ And that wasn’t the only stir; whispers slither through the Den, shadows thick with talk of the Silent Serpent’s grip tightening, their dark fingers weaving curses through the bayou nights—ghost lights flicker, and with them, a hunger that’s more than just flesh. ░▒
░▒░ Deputy Thibodaux sat silent by the bay window, fingers tapping a slow rhythm like distant thunder—eyes darting to the door, as if waiting for the storm to break or the ledger to spill its secrets. What’s coming next, no one can say. ░▒
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