Whispers in the bayou... ░▒░ Down at the docks, beneath the flicker of a broken streetlamp, the sharp-eyed brunette in worn leather side-eyed the pale woman with clipped nails. Quiet as a storm, she murmured, “Sooo...how’s the meat market lately?”—that breath heavy with salt and something darker, like bruised desire waiting to snap. ░▒
▒░ But whispers crawl deeper than flesh. Over at the Serpent’s Den, the shadows twist tighter. The Silent Serpent’s new collector prowls unseen, threading debts through the fog—fear’s chill wrapping tighter ‘round lungs heavy with bourbon and blood. The bayou's heart beats slow, but harder with every secret swallowed. ░▒
░▒░ Deputy Thibodaux caught that look, the kind that doesn’t miss a blade hidden beneath a smile. He didn’t blink, just let the silence hang thick, like moss on rusted chains. What’s next, they wonder—who’s next? And who’s already lost beneath the tides? ░▒
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