The safehouse was a cramped, dingy place, but it was home.
Emily's team had gathered what little supplies they could scavenge, and now they huddled together, waiting for dawn.
Marcel lay on a makeshift bed, his wounds tended to by Julian's skilled hands.
Lena sat beside him, her eyes fixed on his face, her expression a mixture of concern and exhaustion.
Emily stood watch, her rifle leaning against the wall beside her.
She gazed out the window, her eyes scanning the dark streets below.
The city was never quiet, not even at night, there were always sounds – distant gunfire, the rumble of Covenant patrols, the scurrying of rodents through the ruins.
But tonight, the city seemed to be holding its breath.
The sounds were muted, the shadows deeper and darker than usual.
Emily's instincts prickled, warning her of danger lurking just out of sight.