Whispers in the bayou... ░▒░ Down at the docks, the woman with a sharp laugh tossed a fifty-dollar bill like it was nothing, eyes gleaming as she mocked the man’s innocent act—said he looked about as guilty as a raccoon rifling through trash. Her grin held secrets, wet as the bayou night, and the way she followed him to the counter—like a cat stalking a cornered mouse—spoke louder than words. ░▒
▒░ But the real talk? Over near the Neon Lotus, whispers curl heavy like smoke—needles clicking, promises inked in pain and pleasure, debts carved into flesh that no ledger will show. The Silent Serpent’s grip widens, tightening around those who think they can slip through the fog unscathed, debts mingling with something darker now. ░▒
░▒░ Deputy Thibodaux, watching from the balcony, catches the tremor in the air but says nothing. ░▒
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