Zara pressed herself against the cool, jagged surface of the concrete wall, her breath shallow and quick. The smell of damp stone mixed with the scent of dust and decay. Her heart pounded in her chest as she watched the dark silhouettes of the men ahead, their shadows stretched across the broken streets.
One of the men, tall and broad-shouldered, halted in his tracks. He lifted his nose to the air, his eyes narrowing. "I smell them," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to his group. His voice was deep, rough.
His companions stopped, shifting uneasily as they noticed his sudden behaviour change.
"What is it?" one of them asked, his voice dripping with disbelief.
"I smell people," the man responded, taking a few steps forward, his eyes scanning the shadows. His expression was unreadable—focused, dangerous. Zara's stomach churned.
