Dante
The scent of blood was already stale when I returned to the warehouse ruins. The rogue corpses had been cleared, but I wasn’t here to mourn. I was here to hunt.
Something about the way they moved—it didn’t sit right. These weren’t just hungry loners or desperate wanderers. They worked in tandem, communicated through precise movements. That meant training. That meant orders. And orders meant someone had sent them.
Someone knew exactly where Shirley would be.
I crouched near the rusted pillars, inhaling deeply. Even through the sharp stench of iron and old oil, I caught it again—that same earthy, bitter scent from earlier. Faint, but present.
I followed it.
It trailed along the outskirts of the plant, weaving through the remains of collapsed scaffolding and concrete rubble. The b
