Snow crunched beneath heavy boots. The wind whistled through the narrow corridor of the compound's inner courtyard.
One of the guards, scar-faced, a stitched gash down his jaw—snapped his head up.
He heard something.
A soft step.
Not rushed.
Just… deliberate.
A shadow approached from the far corridor that led in from the front. Calm. Unbothered. A man.
No—too young to be called a man in their world. Probably in his early twenties. A black scarf covered the lower half of his face, and a black cap hid the rest. He looked like he'd just walked off a subway station, not into a death zone.
The scarred guard narrowed his eyes and barked, "Hey! Stop right there!"
But the figure didn't stop.
He kept walking.
Another man—thick arms, tattoos crawling across his neck—stood up from a low wall where he'd been sitting. His mouth curled into an irritated snarl. "Oi, you deaf or just stupid? You know where the fuck you steppin', kid?"
Still, no reaction.
