Chapter 42: BLOOD ON THE OLEANDER
The moonlight, a cold blade through the canopy, sliced the overgrown garden of Blackwood Manor into stark contrasts. Oleander bushes, once vibrant pink, drooped like withered hands, their fragrance replaced with the cloying scent of damp earth and neglect. Around a rickety wooden table, four figures hunched in boisterous camaraderie. Their laughter, punctuated by the slapping of cards, echoed eerily in the stillness of the night. One of the men, Razor, a hulking brute with a shaved head and a missing tooth, slammed a hand onto the table, scattering the makeshift poker game.