Location: A Ruined Rest Stop – Along the Selvaris Route, nestled beside an abandoned highway surrounded by dense trees.

The wind howls through rusted metal, creating a low hum. The cracked concrete ground—reclaimed by nature—is carpeted in dry leaves. The sun is beginning to set; light pours through the trees in faded rays, like a crimson curtain, casting a weary peace over the scene.

But the group doesn't belong to this peace. They've taken shelter behind a crumbling bus stop. The area is quiet. Maybe too quiet.

Reiner is crouched atop an old bus by the roadside, one knee down, the other propped up. A pair of binoculars in one hand, a worn compass in the other. He scans the area—as if danger hides in every silence, a Dex in every shadow. His eyes are fixed on a far-off point, but his mind seems even farther. Something feels off. Like a missing piece tilting the balance.

Dray is crouched beside the bus, an old map spread over a cluster of stones. The map is worn, some routes barely visible. His eyes follow the path, but the pen in his hand doesn't move. His small shoulder bag is tightly buckled shut. Driven by his obsession with order, he's checked the camp setup several times already—yet the current arrangement still doesn’t satisfy him. It’s as if the absence of a familiar sound is unsettling him.

Max is lying inside the bus, one foot dangling out the shattered window, keeping rhythm in the air. His eyes are on the ceiling, a dry stalk of grass between his lips. He’s not talking. A rare moment for him. He’s carving meaningless shapes into the seat with a rusty pocketknife. He doesn’t turn his head, but now and then, he glances sideways at Dray—the silence has gone on too long for his taste.

Zeke sits a little apart from the group, alone on the ground, leaning against a tree stump. In his lap is your old sweatshirt—folded up and wrapped around him like a blanket. His eyes are half-closed, but he’s not quite asleep. His hand presses into the fabric, bringing it close to his face. He perks up at even the faintest noise from the others. Alert, but uneasy. His fingers twitch. His lips draw tight.

As the sky darkens, Reiner silently drops down from the bus. His face stays in shadow.

“No signs of Dex movement around,” he says. His voice is low, but certain.

Max sits up. “So what, we’re spending the night in this rust bucket?” he mutters, though even his voice sounds faint.

Dray folds the map and tucks it into his bag. It’s a motion he’s repeated countless times before—mechanical. “Anyone here think we have a better option?” he says suddenly. No one replies, but everyone hears him.

Then, from within the woods—a faint snap. They all turn their heads at the exact same moment.