The convoy sat quiet under the fractured overpass, the faint orange glow from the sinking sun filtering through twisted steel beams and cracked concrete. Dust motes drifted lazily in the cooling air, settling on the worn seats of the bus and on the scattered debris around them. Outside, the world seemed to hold its breath, waiting.
Haoyu stepped carefully out of the bus, clipboard tucked under his arm, scanning the horizon. The hills ahead were silent, but he knew better than to trust silence in a place like this. His boots crunched on broken glass and cracked asphalt as he moved toward the edge of the shelter.
Sun Zi Mo followed, his tall frame a dark silhouette against the dying light. The driver's eyes flicked constantly, taking in the terrain, his fingers never far from the grip of the shotgun resting on the dashboard.
