The night air was thick with smoke.
The mangled FBI van hissed as metal cooled, flames licking at its shattered frame. Cracked asphalt, torn earth, and the smell of burning oil filled the roadside ravine where the wreck had landed.
A broken car door suddenly exploded outward, blasted aside by a force that left shockwaves rippling across the grass.
From within the flames stepped Hutton.
His clothes were scorched and torn, but not a single scratch marked his skin. His light brown eyes gleamed fiercely, golden currents flickering behind them. Each breath he exhaled carried a faint distortion in the air — the pressure of a Nascent Soul cultivator.
Across the wreck, another figure emerged.
Elias—the World Class cultivator—walked out of the fire as though it were made of warm sunlight. His suit was in tatters, revealing faint silver lines glowing beneath his skin: a defensive cultivation lattice that shimmered like mirrored lightning.
He dusted ash from his shoulder in annoyance.
