Leaving the three tiger guards with their chests heaving and minds thoroughly poisoned, Maddie stepped away from the rusted iron fence. A cold, calculating thrill thrummed through her veins. She smoothed down the front of her tunic, adjusting her posture to ensure she looked every bit the precious, vulnerable female this broken world demanded she be.
She wasn't going home. Not yet. The seeds of dissent needed water, and Bowral was overflowing with dry, desperate soil.
She picked her way across the uneven cobblestones, navigating the beautiful, ruined streets of the town. Towering eucalyptus trees burst through the foundations of old boutique shops, their leaves rustling in the dry morning air, while thick green vines wrapped like natural rope around ornate Victorian balconies. To her left, the remains of an old brick clock tower lay scattered across a small plaza, a permanent scar from the earthquake nearly a year ago.
