The streets were too quiet.
Lucas moved with confidence, boots crunching over sun-bleached gravel as he approached a half-collapsed storefront tucked between two broken buildings. A bent neon sign above the door still barely clung to life. The rest of the building had clearly a lost cause.
Ava stood at the corner, eyes scanning the perimeter.
"This is your target?" she asked, skeptically.
Lucas didn't look back.
"Small combini. Family-owned. It's tagged as a minor drop site for East Division runners. They'd stash goods under innocuous businesses. This one didn't make the cut for military reclaim."
"And you're sure there's anything left?"
He ducked under the shattered security gate and kicked aside a pile of warped shelves and melted snack wrappers. The interior was dark, the air stale but breathable. Refrigerators lined one wall, half-crushed but intact. A vending machine had caved inward, its display glass webbed with cracks. Rust dusted everything.
