Damien and Mira made their way through a decaying industrial district at dusk, drawn by rumors of a lab where the undead were allegedly manufactured. Concrete walls, marked with rust and bullet holes, stretched into the distance. Silence hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the chaos and groans of the undead that had pursued them earlier.
Damien paused, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. “This place has death written all over it,” he muttered, fingers tightening on the hilt of his weapon.
Mira, always keenly aware of his moods, shot him a steadying glance. “Then it’s exactly where we need to be.” Her eyes sparkled with determination, though her smile softened as she looked at him. “Besides, who better to survive this place than us?”