The city rose out of the dark like a broken jaw.
St. Louis.
Carl leaned forward slightly in the passenger seat, eyes tracing jagged silhouettes against the night sky. Half-lit towers loomed, some windows gaping like empty sockets, whole sections swallowed by shadow. The Arch rose faintly in the distance—a pale, curved ghost bleeding into low-hanging clouds.
Adira slowed the car.
Burned-out vehicles littered the highway shoulder. Barricades of concrete slabs and twisted rebar funneled them into a single, choked lane. Old signage hung crooked, paint flaking to rusted metal.
ST. LOUIS METRO ZONE — ENTRY RESTRICTED
Someone had spray-painted over it.
RESTRICTED BY WHO?
-H. FINKLEWORTH
Carl exhaled slowly.
"So this is it," he muttered.
Adira didn't answer. Her eyes swept the streets and rooftops, deliberate, calculating, too still to be empty. She killed the headlights, letting the car coast forward under the pale wash of moonlight.
They crossed the threshold.
