Whispers in the bayou... In Laveau, word dripped from the shadows like the rain that battered the bayou streets last night—a storm that was less about weather and more about war. Folks muttered about a van, its windows shattered and metal warped by a bat-wielding fury, while whispers told of masked marauders clashing in the darkness, leaving bruises and broken spirits behind. A safe, heavy as judgement, was carried off under the nose of chaos, stirring suspicions of an inside job at one of the Syndicate’s favorite haunts. And somewhere, beneath the neon flicker, talk spread of a girl nearly choked out in a bar—another soul tested by Laveau’s ruthless grip.
