She checked the corners, the shadows, every doorframe and stairwell, her senses sharp.
But light flickered faintly from inside, a firelight. The unmistakable sound of voices carried out into the night.
Ling Yu approached silently, her steps cautious but steady. She stopped just short of the entrance, observing.
Through the gap in the rusted doorway, she saw them: survivors. Roughly twenty or so, huddled in loose clusters around makeshift fires. Most were young men and women, though a handful of older figures lingered on the edges. Their clothes were tattered, their faces grim, but they were alive.
Some clutched pipes or knives, others bore the faint glow of awakened abilities flickering in their hands. They weren't organized, but they were wary enough to keep a watch near the doorway, a lanky boy gripping a steel rod, his eyes darting nervously into the darkness.
Ling Yu stepped forward, making her presence known.
The boy stiffened instantly, raising his weapon. "Who's there?"
