The dawn was a feeble glow on the horizon, but the city was still cloaked in darkness. Max Slade sat in his office, the harsh fluorescent light flickering above him, casting an intermittent strobe over the cluttered desk. The rain had stopped, leaving the streets slick and glistening like the scales of a snake. The battle had ended hours ago, but the aftermath lingered in the air, thick and suffocating.
Max poured himself a shot of bourbon, the amber liquid catching the light as it sloshed into the glass. He downed it in one gulp, feeling the burn all the way down to his soul. The knock on his door was soft but insistent, and he knew who it was before he even looked up.
"Come in, Viv," he said, his voice gravelly from smoke and exhaustion.
Vivian pushed open the door, her silhouette framed by the dim hallway light. She moved with a cat-like grace, her eyes sharper than broken glass. "You should get some rest, Max. You look like hell."