A Night of Rot and Silence
After hitching a ride on the truck for a while.
The cold night wind howled past Lucas's ears, whipping against his battered body as he clung to the metal frame like a stubborn ghost refusing to fall.
His fingers were stiff.
His grip shaky.
But he held on.
Below him, the asphalt blurred into streaks of dull gray and black, the city lights stretching into long smears like bleeding stars.
Behind him—
Nothing.
No headlights chasing.
No footsteps.
No killing intent.
Seeing that Julian D'Aurelius and Yana Tyson hadn't caught up, Lucas had no intention of getting off the truck to hide.
A crooked smile slowly crawled across his pale face.
"Fools."
Lu—no, Lucas—sneered with a two-word evaluation, his voice hoarse yet dripping with contempt.
His chest rose and fell heavily, each breath dragging against the fire in his lungs.
