Qingran barely had time to react before Feng Yizhou grabbed her wrist, yanking her into the shadows of the truck's cargo hold. She pressed herself against the cold metal, heart pounding as the footsteps drew closer.
The system's voice was quiet but urgent.
[Two individuals. Armed. Approaching from the left.]
Feng Yizhou's gaze flickered toward the entrance, his body tense, seemingly ready. He had already pulled out gun from his belt, his grip firm but loose.
Qingran exhaled slowly steadying herself.
They needed to see who it was before making a move.
A moment later, two men entered the truck, their heavy boots clanking against the metal floor. Both were dressed in tactical gear, the kind used by paramilitary units—unmarked, but efficient. Their rifles were slung loosely across their chests, fingers near the triggers but not quite ready to fire.
One of them stopped near the containment unit, tapping his earpiece.
