Whispers in the bayou... ░▒░ Down at the docks, they say the flame-haired one fought like a cornered animal, wild eyes burning as she thrashed beneath the lean man’s grip, his knee digging hard, the heavy collar biting cold against her throat. Breath came ragged, panic thick as the bayou fog that curls through those rusted piers. ░▒
▒░ But that’s not all the water’s whispering. Over at the crumbling Laveau ruins, the tattooed shadow swallowed a bitter pill—a shock collar, cold steel against his sun-dark skin—eyes fixed on a ghost named Kahlan while dangers close like vultures in the humid air. The fog’s thicker now, and the town’s pulse races toward a breaking point. ░▒
░▒░ Deputy Broussard’s silence says more than his words, eyes flicking to the cracked door as the Syndicate’s grip tightens. What’s left unseen festers beneath the moss and rot—what’s the next move in this deadly game? ░▒
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