Qingran didn't move immediately. She studied the scene ahead, her mind working through every possibility.
No bodies. No movement. Just an overturned truck and blood smeared across the road.
Her system should have alerted her. Should have given her a probability assessment, a risk factor—something. Anything.
But there was nothing.
Feng Yizhou exhaled slowly, his gaze locked on the wreckage. "It's too quiet."
"I know."
Qingran reached for the door handle but paused. No sudden moves. If something was watching, she didn't want to tip them off.
She glanced at the GPS again. Still frozen. Which meant someone—or something—didn't want them navigating this road.
Feng Yizhou opened his door first, Qingran following, stepping onto the cracked pavement, boots crunching against debris.
The air smelled…off. Not just of blood, but something metallic and sharp.
They approached the truck cautiously. Qingran swept her gaze over the cargo—scattered crates, broken metal containers.
