"We can't stay here," Shao said quietly, his voice firm but low.
His hand tightened around Jai's wrist, tugging him forward as they jogged down a cracked and broken path. The wind carried faint echoes of distant explosions and collapsing structures, and both of them knew—this moment of quiet was temporary.
Jai struggled to keep up, his breathing still uneven, his legs sore.
But Shao didn't stop. His eyes constantly flicked behind them, scanning rooftops, alleyways, shadows—everything. His mind was working fast, calculating paths, memorizing landmarks. They had managed to get far from the school, but they weren't out of danger. Not yet.
Finally, Shao stopped in front of an old house half-hidden behind a collapsed fence and overgrown trees. Its windows were shattered, and the wooden frame leaned slightly to one side, like a tired man on his last leg.
He tested the door—locked. With a sharp grunt, he kicked it hard, splintering it open with a loud crack.
