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He snorts. “I doubt you try with much of anything.”
“Oh?”
He clinks our glasses again. “You succeed.”
“Hmm.”
For a moment, we drink in silence.
"Vanessa, do you find the shadows more revealing than the light?" he asks, his eyes holding a glimmer of speculation.
Shadows. Shadow Syndicate? What is he playing at?
I respond with a cryptic smile. "In the shadows, truths are often obscured, but so are the lies. It's a delicate balance."
"You see that gentleman by the corner booth?" Dylan gestures discreetly, his eyes narrowing slightly. "He used to be a key player in the Shadow Syndicate. After the fall, he's been trying to carve out a niche in the new order."
“I’m sorry. The Shadow Syndicate?” I feign ignorance.
He leans closer. “You haven’t read the news?”
“Wait… You mean..”
He nods.
“I didn’t think it was… A mafia? Here?”
Dylan nods again. “You’ve stumbled into a bar where many of the old associates frequent.”
“So why haven’t the police come by then?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why are you here?” I jerk away from him.
“I’m not one of them,” he says.
“Words are meaningless.”
He shrugs. “Go ahead. Google me. I’m not affiliated with the Shadow Syndicate.”
I snort. He could Google me, and he wouldn’t think I was a part of the mafia either.
His voice lowers slightly as he leans in, a conspiratorial air about him. "You see those two by the corner booth?" he gestures discreetly. "Used to be enforcers for the Shadow Syndicate. Now, they've found new ventures, quieter ones."
I follow his gaze, watching as his perceptive eyes identify figures within the bar. He’s right. Those are two enforcers, ones who shouldn’t recognize me, but I turn back around, not wanting to risk it.
As Dylan continues his observations, pointing out those who once thrived in the shadows of the syndicate, a realization dawns. His intention is clear—to keep me informed, to provide a layer of protection within the intricate web of the post-Shadow Syndicate underworld. There's a genuine concern in his gaze, an unspoken commitment to ensuring my safety amidst the remnants of a dangerous past.
But why?
Because he’s oblivious to my own history with the Shadow Syndicate. His insights are delivered with a genuine desire to keep me safe rather than as a revelation of shared experiences. The careful mask of anonymity that shields my past remainsintact, allowing me to navigate this conversation with a sense of control.
"That woman at the bar," he says, indicating a poised figure nursing a drink, "had ties to the Shadow Syndicate's financial operations. Now, she's playing a different game, but the stakes remain high."
As he continues to share information, a subtle realization dawns. Dylan seems genuinely concerned about my safety in this volatile environment. His discreet glances around the bar and the subtle shifts in his posture all indicate that he's keeping a vigilant watch.
I tread carefully, ensuring that my past connections to the Shadow Syndicate remain veiled. My measured responses dance on the edge of ambiguity, revealing enough to maintain the illusion of openness while withholding the pivotal details that could alter the dynamics of our conversation.
