Fujiwara Makoto conjured an invisible camouflage for herself. Although she wasn't sure if the descendants' eyes could detect heat sources, it was better than going out swaggering.
She left the abandoned supermarket where she was hiding. The street outside was silent, covered in fallen leaves due to years of neglect. The flowerbeds and green belts alongside were untended, weeds had crept onto the road surface, with soil burying half of it.
Indeed, there were many messy footprints on the ground, quite fresh. They weren't trying to hide, nor cared about being discovered. Perhaps they considered themselves the hunters, merely watching their prey from a vantage point.
