The city had a way of swallowing secrets, of burying them deep beneath layers of grime and shadow. Max Slade knew this all too well as he stood on the fire escape of their rundown safe house, the city's symphony of sirens and distant shouts playing a constant refrain. The horizon was a murky line of grays and blacks, with dawn still a distant promise. His body ached from the previous night's battle, but his mind was sharper than ever. There was no room for rest, not when the city's soul was at stake.
Inside, Vivian was at the small kitchen table, a dim lamp casting long shadows across her face. She was meticulously cleaning her pistol, her movements precise and controlled. Max watched her for a moment, a grim smile tugging at his lips. She was every bit as determined as he was, and they both knew the stakes. The explosion at Pier 17 had been a blow to Salvatore, but it wasn't enough. They needed more, they needed to cut out the heart of his operation.