The bar smells of cheap alcohol and cigarettes, thick silence hanging in the dim neon light. Behind the counter, over a half-empty glass, sits Hank — slouched, with a heavy gaze and distrust in his eyes. The door creaks — someone enters with a steady step and confident look. In the glass’s reflection, the pupils briefly glow. Caerulean. Hank doesn’t turn, exhales, and shakes his head with a dark half-smile The brass decided I need a partner. And, of course, it had to be a Caerulean
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