The outer gate groaned as it opened, its metal jaws parting with reluctant force.
Ava stepped through first.
The air hit like a slap—sharp, dry, not filtered. Her coat whipped slightly in the wind as she moved past the perimeter, boots crunching on the cracked concrete beyond the security threshold.
Behind her, the heavy door hissed shut.
She didn't look back.
The bunker was done.
No more repair queue. No more twenty-hour shifts with Lucas sending her schematics at midnight like it was urgent. No more pretending she was just another systemless survivor.
Lucas stepped up beside her, his long coat settling into place with practiced ease. He looked almost comfortable in the dying light, like this wasteland suited him.
Ava scanned the horizon. The city stretched ahead like a jagged corpse, its bones made of steel and ash. Skyscrapers half-eaten by time, bridges collapsed like snapped ribs. The silence out here was thick—nothing chirped, nothing moved.
Just ruins and wind.
