City X.
Ash still drifted in the wind as they drove through the outskirts—fine, gray powder settling onto rooftops. The streets were eerily quiet, broken only by the occasional flicker of movement behind shattered windows or the low crackle of distant fires.
Their clothes were soaked in blood.
Not just Yunfeng's, but also streaks and splatters from the zombies they had cut through, the friends they had lost, and the chaos they had survived. Muchen's sleeves were torn, dark with dried blood that had stiffened the fabric against his skin. His knuckles were raw where he had punched, clawed, and held on too tightly.
Jai clung to Kailun's side, too numb to speak. Even Shao, ever composed, had a tremble in his hands as he adjusted the bike's throttle.
Then, the sound of engines reached them—steady, organized, unlike the chaos they had just fled.
