pte

ers Before

rail in the other. She moved like smoke silent, evasive, and lingering. Cabby didn't just speak; she

he abandoned train depot, she hadn't prayed. She had listened. Old Sister Noma had whispered something foul: Antho

s Tavern, her voice low and calculated. "And not the ki

bby had begun circling him, weaving a net of stories too close to truth to be ignored. She di

ide, the streets started buzzing with names. And at the very cor

e or consequence. His reputation as "the foxy bird" was well-earned slick, cruel, and deeply magnetic. Every gir

they cursed him. Men feared the damage he left behind. He had a way of turning friendships into betrayals, lo

e unreadable. He knew Cabby's type-a mouth that didn't close and ears that col

woman passed between them like contraband. Foden didn't play clean, but he played smart. And

offer a deal. "You want fireworks?" he asked, leaning in c

her eyes. "Wha

n the tide. Anthony's had it good f

. But she didn't need to. She just needed the story. A

The people who once whispered in his favor now fell s

ng hunted," she warned. "Cabby's got her teeth in somet

s hands trembled when he

e. Church women whispered between hymns. And Phil? He was feeding the fire with we

own shadow. He saw betrayal in every smile. When he passed the prayer shack, he fel

, never too much, just enough to keep the wolves sniffing. He knew the game, and he

low-voiced, deadly: "You've been