Shen Li and Fang Yuxi settled near the walls, exhausted, tending to the wounded and adjusting blankets. Yiran hummed to the baby, coaxing small coos as Shiyue laid back, pale. Meng Nian and Yu Song remained vigilant near the entrances, scanning shadows and weak beams.
Qingran pressed her remaining hand to her forehead, staring at the ceiling. The phantom ache of her lost arm throbbed persistently, a reminder of the cost she had paid but also of the lives she had saved. The prosthetic hand would come, Lingquan's promise assured her of that.
The warehouse battered but standing, was a temporary bastion. Ash fell silently outside, the red sky still looming overhead, but within its walls, fragile hope stirred.
