The morning air bit at their faces as they descended from the hotel rooftop, the fire escape groaning under their weight with each careful step. Rhett's legs still felt unsteady, the lingering effects of the nightmare making every movement feel slightly disconnected, like he was piloting his body from a distance. Henrik moved with practiced silence despite his injuries, each footfall calculated to minimize noise against the rusted metal grating.
They hit the alley behind the hotel, where broken glass crunched softly under their boots and the smell of rotting garbage mixed with the ever-present scent of smoke and ash. The city stretched before them like a wounded animal, all jagged edges and exposed bones. Street lamps flickered sporadically, their light casting dancing shadows that made every pile of debris look like a potential threat. In the distance, a dog barked—one of the few sounds of life in this graveyard of civilization.
