Chapter 117 The Boggey Sitelight

• Ethan felt the cold crawl down his spine like a drunk spider, the name Thomas hanging in the air thick as Chicago fog. Thomas wasn't just a name—he was a goddamn legend whispered in back alleys and dimly lit bars. A cipher that spelled out chaos, sharp as a razor's edge, dangerous as a loaded gun.
• His voice cut through the silence, that particular tone Arthur knew too well—part confusion, part intrigue. The kind of voice that said he'd seen some shit but wasn't about to back down.
• "That Thomas King you mentioned..." Ethan drawled. "Same Leo's old man?"