The storm outside battered the windows of the old courthouse, thunder rolling like distant cannon fire. Inside, the tension was thicker than the dust clinging to the ancient oak benches. Revans Baltimore stood at the center of the room, his trench coat damp from the rain, his eyes locked on the figure at the far end of the chamber—Victor Hensley, a man as corrupt as the empire he aimed to build.
Victor smirked as he stepped forward, his voice low and cold. “You can’t stop progress, Baltimore. The city council is in my pocket. By tomorrow morning, the West District will be leveled, and my towers will rise from the ashes.”
A murmur of disbelief spread through the gallery. That district was home to generations of working-class families, a living testament to Baltimore’s roots. Revans’ jaw clenched. The weight of history, loyalty, and honor burned in his chest.
“You’re out of line, Hensley,” he said, voice steady. “Those people—my people—built this city with their bare hands. You’re not bulldozing their homes for some glass monument to your greed.”
Victor raised a brow, mockingly. “You can’t save everyone, Revans. Times change.”
Revans stepped forward, his boots echoing like gunshots on the polished floor. He unbuttoned his coat slowly, revealing the silver badge pinned to his chest. Not just a symbol of law—but of defiance.
“Over my dead body would that happen,” Revans growled. “You’ll have to bury me with the bricks of every house you plan to destroy.”
Silence hung heavy.
Victor narrowed his eyes. “Are you threatening me, detective?”
Revans smirked, but there was no humor in it. “I’m making you a promise.”
The rom erupted in voices—supporters, skeptics, and the press all talking at once. But Revans didn’t move. He stood like a statue carved from conviction, daring the city’s darkest forces to challenge him.
In that moment, the rain outside seemed to pause, as if the city itself held its breath.
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