Caleb, his face etched with concern, turned and left.

Bryson sat alone, the silence pressing down on him like a shroud.

He closed his eyes, but Hannah’s face, framed by the fiery glow of his memory, refused to fade.

At seven pm sharp, the ship reached its destination.

Hannah, a vision in a black dress, stood poised by the dock, her elegant suitcase a silent companion entrusted to Winston’s capable hand.

The air crackled with unspoken tension, thick with the scent of power and intrigue.

Around her, the movers and shakers of Lightby’s underworld mingled, faces etched with ambition and veiled secrets.

“He’s the kingpin of the western district,” Winston murmured, his voice low, “The notorious leader of the Lightby Lions.

He gestured towards a statuesque woman, dripping with diamonds and confidence.

“And that is Maria Courtenay, the kingpin’s partner of the eastern district.

other groups, each radiating an

bullets,” he explained, his voice

here could ignite

across the gathering, finally landing on a

gaze a stormy gray, and the air around him

a flicker of

that

gaze, a knowing smile

head

inquired with narrowed

financial group in

in the

you taken an

voice continued, “His

but not in

not fit for

only asked a

answer with a

velvet counterpoint to the

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