Months passed. The city moved on, oblivious to the quiet guardians walking its streets. Jonah and Luis tracked minor disturbances—cases of fear magnified, letters sent anonymously, sudden vanishings—but each time, awareness and intervention disrupted the flow of the restless energy. The force had been diminished, not destroyed, and Jonah understood it would remain a subtle part of the city’s rhythm indefinitely.
Jonah walked the streets of New Orleans long after the city had gone to sleep. The neon from bars and street signs reflected faintly on wet asphalt, the hum of the Mississippi nearby steady and soothing. It had been months since the final confrontation with Meccadinho, months since he had faced the shadows that haunted his past and survived. Yet, the city felt different. He could sense its pulse more clearly now, the subtle energy that had once been oppressive now almost instructive, guiding him as he moved.
