Rot. Old blood, decay that had been sealed behind walls long enough to become abstract.
Voss took the second one that stumbled into view from the right, moving forward and snapping its neck with a quick, almost bored twist. Ivan stepped up to a third, raising his weapon and driving it cleanly through the skull in a practised, efficient motion.
Felicity watched all of it.
Not to admire.
To remember.
Damien glanced down at her. "Still with me."
"Yes," she said quietly.
He nodded once, approving the steadiness.
They moved fast, not because anyone chased them, but because lingering near a city gate was always a mistake. Sound traveled. Blood traveled. The dead followed.
Once they cleared two blocks and reached the broken highway that angled toward the outskirts, Victor slowed. He looked back once, toward the city.
No one was pursuing.
Maybe not ever.
Maybe not at all.
