Five minutes into the drive, the Humvee had already stopped feeling like a vehicle and started feeling like a steel coffin rattling its way toward something ugly.
Jagger sat on the right-side bench in the rear cabin, one shoulder knocking lightly against the reinforced wall whenever the tires climbed over broken asphalt, shattered dividers, or chunks of collapsed concrete. The engine growled beneath them in a constant, heavy vibration that worked its way up through the floor and into bone. A dim red cabin light washed everyone in the same muted, war-ready color, flattening faces into hard angles and deep shadows. Outside the narrow armored windows, ruined Singapore passed by in broken flashes. Dead streetlights. Smashed railings. Shuttered storefronts. Roads torn open by claws, hooves, and things far worse.
Across from him sat the healer.
