Whispers in the bayou... ░▒░ Down at the docks, they say the man with the haunted eyes lay curled in the filth, blood seeping through his threadbare shirt—his breath ragged, whispering about money lost and debts unpaid, trembling like moss in the bayou’s chill. The weight of betrayal clings to him thicker than the fog rolling in. ░▒
▒░ But that wasn’t the only thing stirring—over near the Starlust, shadows flicker uneasy as the Syndicate tightens its noose, whispers of a dark rite bleeding through the humid night, promises of power sealed in blood and fear. The fog presses closer, like secrets itching to break loose. ░▒
░▒░ Out by the Sheriff’s tower, the man in the white suit watches silent, lips pressed thin—his eyes sharp but unreadable, a slow nod like a question left hanging in the thick, heavy air. What’s next, no one dares say aloud. ░▒
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