The engine of the truck growled low as it rumbled over cracked asphalt and debris-strewn streets. The city around them was a skeleton of its former self buildings gutted, windows shattered, the blackened remains of fires long since extinguished. The early morning sun painted everything in a sickly gold, casting jagged shadows that looked like claws reaching across the ruins.
Ayla kept her gaze fixed on the horizon, her mind razor-sharp despite the sleepless night. Every instinct screamed that this wasn't just a supply run. It was something darker. A test. A trap. Maybe both.
The air inside the truck was heavy, the kind of silence that spoke louder than words. Marco sat beside her, tense, his fingers drumming against his thigh. The others—four men and a woman—wore masks of indifference, but Ayla wasn't fooled. She could see it in the way their eyes flicked to her when they thought she wasn't looking. They didn't trust her. And maybe they shouldn't.
