Spooky sits on the worn stone steps of the Santos house, taking a long, slow drag from the joint between his fingers. The familiar burn mixes with the cool night air, settling his nerves. His gaze drifts over the street, calm but sharp, like a panther on watch.

This was his domain. He didn’t need to patrol or make noise; just his presence was enough to keep things in line. Leaning his head back, he exhaled a thin stream of smoke, smirking slightly at the night unfolding.