Deborah's POV
Ever since David received that urgent call yesterday and rushed out, NO.7 had been eerily quiet, with only Matthew and me left for company.
After he left, we hadn't heard anything from him or seen him since.
We had no idea where he went or what happened, leaving us anxious and full of uneasy speculation.
And we didn't dare leave this hiding place.
As fugitives now hunted by the FDB, Matthew and I had no safe place left in Murias.
Any careless move could expose us, bringing even more trouble.
So, we were stuck at NO.7, waiting and hiding as time seemed to stand still.
But we were not idle.
Mark had brought back many Falshi shards from the lab.
These stones, once symbols of fear and danger for residents—representing radiation—had to be turned into something entirely different.
We were working to transform these shards into anti-radiation amulets, ensuring they would become Murias' residents' future shields of protection.
We had to alter Falshi's appearance, making it look less intimidating and more like a regular piece of jewelry, something people might wear without realizing its true nature.
Only by changing the way they looked could we make them more acceptable.
Thus, Matthew and I spent day and night grinding, polishing, and sculpting these rough Falshi shards, carefully shaping each one into different designs.
After meticulous craftsmanship, the stones looked more like polished gemstones—glimmering, translucent, and radiating a beauty that made it nearly impossible to recognize them as the dangerous Falshi shards mined from the Quarry.
"This one would be good for kids," I mused, holding up a small, teardrop-shaped pendant and handing it to Matthew. "Let's call it an 'amulet.'"
Matthew glanced at it, nodded, and then resumed his work, focused and steady, as if each Falshi piece would become a masterpiece.
We continued to work, discussing potential migration plans—routes for night travel, daytime rest spots, and strategies to ensure the group wouldn't fall victim to mutant creatures.
Each conversation brought up new questions, new flaws to be corrected.
But no matter how we polished our plans, I couldn't help feeling that it still wasn't enough.
Before I could lose myself in thought, the door suddenly burst open.
It was David.
His brows knitted together in a way that spoke of an urgent crisis.
Matthew and I shot to our feet almost instantly.
"What happened?" Matthew asked, anxiety creeping into his voice.
David stepped forward, taking a deep breath before he spoke: "Yesterday, Falshi Quarry experienced a sudden outflow of magma."
"Magma?!" I repeated, stunned by the terrifying word.
My heart dropped; this was happening faster than we thought.
"Yes," David said through gritted teeth, his voice low and pained. "Magma erupted from beneath the mine without warning. Nearly five hundred werewolves were trapped underground, buried in magma… killed instantly."
My eyes widened as a cold numbness swept through my mind.
"What—what about the rest of them?" Matthew asked, his voice shaking.
David inhaled sharply, a shadow of grief crossing his face. "Colonel Peter Cox has decided to abandon the Quarry. It's now designated as NO.11 Quarry."
NO.11.
That number signified it was no longer a useful mine but a forsaken wasteland.
This "name" was like a death sentence for the site.
And a death sentence for the five hundred werewolves lost there…
"How could this happen…" I whispered, my chest tight with despair.
Losing five hundred werewolves—this was a catastrophic blow to our plans for the migration.
Even in their unsealed state, werewolves were critical to defending against mutant attacks.
We had lost a fifth of our strength.
"What about the others?" I asked, clinging to the last threads of hope.
"They've all been relocated to the new Falshi Quarry." David's voice was grim. "But things aren't looking good there either. Conditions are even worse than at NO.11."
I stood there, reeling from the impact of his words.
"How many pendants do you have ready?" David asked suddenly, glancing at the pile of unfinished Falshi charms in front of us.
Matthew answered immediately, "Not even thirty thousand."
"That's nowhere near enough." David's voice was tense, his gaze sharp with urgency. "There are nearly fifty thousand ordinary people in Murias alone, excluding the werewolves. Everyone needs one of these pendants if they're to survive on the surface."
A wave of panic washed over me as I looked at the pile of half-finished pendants.
Fifty thousand… That number seemed insurmountable.
At our current pace, it would take months to complete enough for everyone, and time was not on our side.
"We need to speed up production," David insisted, his voice firm. "Otherwise, our entire plan will fall apart."
No sooner had the words left his mouth than his Mobi buzzed to life.