Chen stared at the injured man as though the words he had just spoken had completely broken something inside his head.
"2040?"
His voice came out quieter than he intended. His brows slowly pulled together, and his fingers tightened around the rifle until his knuckles began to pale. Twenty years. The man had said twenty years, yet Chen knew with absolute certainty that it had been twenty-five years since the outbreak began.
That was impossible.
For several seconds, Chen remained frozen, his mind desperately trying to make sense of what he had heard. His gaze shifted toward the man, then toward the bloodstained factory around them, before finally landing on Skyy. The moment he looked at him, a strange sense of urgency rushed through his chest.
"Come here."
Skyy blinked at him. "Chen?"
"Come here," Chen repeated, this time more firmly.
