Dim light filtered through high, grimy windows. Dust hung lazily in the air, disturbed by their footsteps. Around them stood more hybrids—many of them—dressed like commoners. Ordinary. Almost too ordinary.
Some looked like beggars, clothes worn thin and patched.
Others resembled thugs, rough silhouettes leaning against crates and walls.
It was unsettling.
Intimidating, even.
For a split second, Sylene's instincts flared.
But then—the two hybrids escorting them gave a small nod.
And everything shifted.
The figures straightened at once.
Postures snapped upright.
Hands came up in a sharp, unified salute.
Sylene froze.
Turns out all of them… are hybrids trained as soldiers.
Once he focused—really looked past the grime, the dirt smeared across faces and clothes—he realized something else.
They were all decent-looking.
Strong.
Alert.
Not broken.
Not desperate.
Just… hidden.
This resistance was buried deep beneath layers of disguise and misdirection.
