“You can have what you want,” the Devil murmured. “But not both.”
Outside, rain began to stitch the city together — a soft, equalizing tapping that made secrets audible. Inside, choices were being cataloged like evidence: who would sell out, who would save themselves, who would sign for a fate wrapped in velvet?
The Gangster’s fingers tightened on the cigarette until it broke. “Then tell me what to give.”