Abandoned Warehouse — Outer District
The motorcycle rumbled to a stop, tires crunching against gravel.
Dera swung her leg off first. "We're here."
The warehouse loomed like a carcass in the night—rusted steel, broken windows, nature slowly reclaiming it. Vines strangled the sides. The air stank of mold and something worse… something dead.
Lucifer slid off behind her, his boots hitting the ground with a soft thud. He cracked his neck lazily. "Homey."
Without a word, Dera unzipped her bag and pulled out a pistol, then a matte-black assault rifle. She checked both with the calm of someone who'd done this too many times.
Lucifer raised an eyebrow. "Packing heavy, aren't we?"
She slid a mag into the rifle with a satisfying click. "Things aren't like they used to be. Monsters got bold. I got smarter."
He grinned. "Guess I shouldn't get on your bad side."
She gave him a dry look. "You already did."
