The night was too quiet.
Smoke curled from the cracked asphalt, lit only by the flickering orange of a burning wing of the Genesis compound. Sirens wailed somewhere distant, hollow and distorted. The air reeked of chemicals and scorched metal. Sebastian's coat was torn, streaked with soot and blood; Isabella leaned against him, her breath trembling but steady.
"Keep moving," he said, voice low, every word taut with urgency. "The fire's spreading. We need to get past the ridge before the backup teams arrive."
Her knees buckled once before she forced herself upright again. "I can make it," she whispered, though every step stabbed pain through her ankle and ribs. The child inside her felt like a fragile promise small, silent, but pulsing with life against the storm outside. She pressed a palm over her abdomen instinctively, as if she could shield both of them with sheer will.
