POV: Xu Zhenlan
Something was wrong.
Xu Zhenlan stood at the window of his office, his hands clasped behind his back, staring out at the massive backyard behind the mansion. The view was familiar—if not empty. The birds were still chirping, the rabbits were hopping around like they owned the place.
Everything looked normal.
But it wasn't.
He'd felt it for days now. A wrongness that had nothing to do with what he could see and everything to do with what he couldn't.
The sensation had started as a vague discomfort, easy to dismiss as stress or overwork. But it had grown steadily more insistent, settling in his chest like a weight that refused to lift.
The news reports were controlled. Measured. They spoke of isolated incidents, localized outbreaks, situations being managed by appropriate authorities. The language was careful. Reassuring.
His international contacts told a different story.
Zhenlan turned from the window and walked to his desk.
