The cold hit harder the second we stepped outside.
Not the kind of cold you could avoid with a jacket or a bit of movement. The icy chill seeped into your bones, and the filthy stench of rusted iron, mildew and old blood didn't help either. A heavy air filled the night, wet footsteps muffled but the faint, damp shuffle of things moving somewhere in the dark.
Mu Qinglan led, her boots whispering over broken concrete, body low and fluid like a cat ready to kill. Shen Yifei stuck to my side, tighter than I liked, but I let it slide. Fear wasn't a sin tonight. It was survival.
We moved fast but quiet, weaving through the wreckage of Longwan's corpse. Burnt-out cars. Shattered storefronts. Places that once buzzed with life and now served only as traps.
A soft click to my right — Qinglan raised a fist, signalling a stop.
