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.