Word on the street... The rain didn’t wash away the city’s grime yesterday—it only made the cracks in Hathian’s soul shine sharper. Whispers swirl about a brazen pharmacy heist, done under the hurricane’s cover, where desperate hands grabbed everything from medicine to diapers, escaping like shadows on wet pavement. Meanwhile, a dark tale unfolds beneath the bridge: two women, playing the part of saviors, shoved a lost soul off into the unforgiving storm, uttering something cryptic about a “Haven Express.” And across the soaked streets, sickness crawled through the alleyways—a flicker of witchcraft murmured among fevered breaths, secrets traded over bitter coffee, as the city’s desperate cling to warmth and power alike.
