Chapter 28: The World was Bleak
The faint hum of muffled voices grew louder as they moved deeper. Every door they passed seemed like a potential ambush site, and Zara couldn’t help the quick glances she shot into every shadowed corner.
Her stomach tightened as they neared the end of the hallway, where two guards stood outside a heavy steel door, their rifles slung across their shoulders. They exchanged no pleasantries, their cold stares cutting through the silence like a warning.
Winter gave them a tight nod, his broad shoulders relaxed, his hands loose at his sides. Zara envied his calm. She tried to emulate it, though her hands curled into nervous fists at her sides.
Their wiry escort rapped on it twice, a coded knock that reverberated like a challenge. A small slot slid open, revealing a pair of sharp, suspicious eyes before the door creaked inward.
The room was sparse but functional, illuminated by a dim lantern at its centre. The air carried the acrid tang of sweat and gun oil. Around a battered wooden table sat several figures: the old man they’d met outside the base, a woman with a long braid falling over her shoulder, the healer who had tended Zara’s injury earlier, and a few others who exuded the kind of hardened, dangerous energy that came only from surviving countless battles.
Winter’s gaze swept the room, noting every exit, every potential weapon, and every shift in the group’s posture.
Zara’s hand briefly brushed against his, grounding herself in his steady presence.
"You’re late," the scarred man growled, leaning back in his chair and gesturing for them to sit.
Winter pulled out a chair, the scrape of metal on concrete loud in the silence. Zara took the seat beside him, her movements stiff as she kept her eyes trained on the table.
"Your guide must have thought we needed some sightseeing," Winter replied smoothly, his deep voice carrying an edge of authority. "It was him who led us here."
The scarred man huffed but said nothing, his attention shifting to the old man, who shifted in his seat.