The city at night was a kaleidoscope of neon and shadow, a sprawling beast that breathed in the scent of the ocean and exhaled the smoke of a million secrets. But as Valeria drove the armored SUV deeper into the jagged veins of the city, the light began to retreat, replaced by a suffocating, oily darkness. We were heading into the "Gutter"—the places where the maps ended and the law faded into a memory. Here, the air was a viscous soup of stale grease, stagnant rain, and the unmistakable, metallic tang of unspoken violence.
We stopped in a narrow, lightless alleyway where the brick walls seemed to be sweating. The music from The Velvet Void didn't reach the ears so much as the bone; it was a low, subsonic throb that vibrated through the soles of my feet, a rhythmic heartbeat of a dying world. I pulled my heavy wool cloak tighter, the fabric scratching against my neck, and hiked my hood up until my face was a mere ghost in the shadows.
