Julian moved through the skeletal remains of the old city with practiced silence, his body angled upward as he leaped from one crumbling ledge to another. The architecture below had long surrendered to nature—thick vines coiled around rusted fire escapes, moss carpeted shattered windowsills, and massive, bioluminescent fungi pulsed faintly in the shadows of collapsed overpasses. A green resurrection, beautiful and indifferent.
Emma rested securely in his arms, her short red hair whipping across her cheeks in the wind. She didn't squirm or complain—there was an unspoken trust in the way she let him carry her, her small hands gripping his collar with casual possessiveness. Her eyes swept the terrain below, sharp and alert despite her relaxed posture.
"Seems like patrols are completely dead around here," she murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Guess the chaos you caused yesterday actually worked. Nobody wants to wander into a ghost zone."
