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The voices grew louder as Zara and Rowan pressed deeper into the dimly lit passage. Zara motioned for Rowan to halt, crouching low to steady her breathing. The faint glow of lanterns flickered ahead, casting dancing shadows on the crumbling walls. She gestured for Rowan to cover her as she crept forward, each step calculated to avoid drawing attention.
The passage opened into a chamber, larger than Zara had anticipated. A group of survivors, their faces gaunt and wary, huddled around a makeshift fire. They looked ragged—likely scavengers who had been trapped underground for weeks, judging by their hollow eyes and soot-stained clothes.
Zara scanned the group. Most of them were ard, but their weapons were crude: knives, clubs, a battered shotgun that might fire if luck was on its side. One man stood apart from the rest, his posture too confident to belong to soone defeated by circumstance. His sharp gaze swept the room like a predator sizing up his prey. Zara tensed. This wasn't a man to be underestimated.
"More company?" Rowan's voice crackled faintly through the comm in her ear.
"Survivors," Zara replied softly. "But there's sothing... off."
The leader of the group stepped forward, his eyes locking onto the entrance where Zara remained hidden in the shadows. "I know you're there," he called, his voice smooth and unbothered. "No point in hiding. Co out before my people get nervous."
Zara exchanged a glance with Rowan, who gave a subtle nod. She stepped into the light, her hands raised to show she ant no harm—yet.
"We're just passing through," she said, keeping her voice calm but firm. "We don't want trouble."
The man smirked, his teeth flashing white against his dirty face. "Trouble's all there is down here," he replied. "The question is whether you bring more of it with you."
Rowan erged behind her, his presence solid and reassuring. "We're not here to fight," he said. "But we won't roll over if you try anything."
The man chuckled, crossing his arms. "Fair enough. Na's Marcus. And you two?"
"Zara. That's Rowan," she replied curtly.
Marcus's smile didn't falter, but his eyes sharpened. "Zara Kincaid. I've heard of you. The strategist who's been giving the infected—and their masters—a hard ti."
The room grew tense. Zara's reputation preceded her, and not always in ways she liked.
"You've got the wrong person," she said evenly, though her hand inched closer to her holster.
Marcus shrugged, unconvinced. "Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, you're a liability down here. Those things will sniff you out before long, and when they do, they won't stop with just you."
Zara's jaw tightened. "We're not staying. Just tell us the quickest way to the surface, and we'll be gone."
Marcus tilted his head, considering her words. "Sure, I'll help you out—on one condition."
"What's the condition?" Rowan asked warily.
Marcus's grin widened. "You take care of a little problem we've been having. Sothing... unnatural. Deal?"
Zara's stomach sank. Whatever Marcus wanted, it wasn't going to be simple.
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