In the flickering neon haze of a well-known Laveau dive, a lone woman slipped through the throng, her shimmering dress betraying none of the bruises blooming beneath the fabric like dark, unspeakable secrets. The air hung thick with smoke and whispered menace as her coat’s fuzzy sleeves were tugged low to hide the faint purple fingerprints—a silent testament to recent violence that had erupted just hours before. Behind the bar’s glass-streaked windows, patrons murmured of the sudden tension that fractured the usual cacophony of jazz and laughter, as shadowed figures—lean and ominous—hovered at the edges, their watchful eyes scanning for signs of unrest. A subtle but palpable fear began to ripple through the night’s veneer of hollow social dances and false smiles.