The night pressed down heavy on the city, a suffocating blanket of darkness punctuated by the jagged neon of the skyline, a broken crown of flickering lights that seemed to mock the city's aspirations.
Cain sat in the back of the black sedan, cigarette dangling from his fingers, the cherry glowing like a malevolent eye in the dim light, watching the smoke curl against the tinted glass, a fragile tendril disappearing into the oppressive atmosphere.
The streets were alive, teeming with a chaotic energy that both fascinated and repelled him—horns blaring, drunks spilling out of clubs, their laughter and shouts echoing in the night, dealers posted on corners, their eyes scanning the shadows, a city that never slept because its nightmares had teeth, and they were always hungry.
Beside him,
