The road out of the city did not feel like escape. It felt like the world had exhaled and forgotten to inhale again.
Wind dragged across the open highway, carrying the dry scent of dust, old blood, and something faintly sweet and rotten that never quite left the air anymore. The sky was too blue for the end of the world. That was the cruelest part. It looked like a normal day.
Felicity walked in the center of a formation that no one had discussed and no one would ever admit existed.
Victor at the front, wings half-spread not for flight but for intimidation, cutting a silhouette against the broken horizon that warned anything with teeth to reconsider. Voss slightly to her right, shoulder close enough to brush hers if she swayed. Damien to her left, tail flicking slow arcs that were not idle, eyes constantly measuring distance and threat. Ivan behind. Sarge and Marx sweeping wider. Tommy orbiting like a caffeinated satellite.
