The last body drops to the ground, and the deafening silence that follows feels almost as jarring as the chaos. Smoke curls in the air around them, and the metallic tang of blood lingers. Mickey and Ziana stagger toward the containers, collapsing against one of them. The cold metal bites through their clothes, but neither cares. Their heavy breathing is the only sound, an unspoken acknowledgment of how close they came to dying.
Ziana tilts her head back against the container, her chest rising and falling as she stares at the night sky. “I swear,” she mutters, “if this is what your daily routine looks like, you need a new hobby.”
Mickey chuckles lowly, dragging his gloved hand down his face. “It’s not always this fun.”
She turns her head to glare at him. “Fun? You think *this* is f
