Minister Duan said nothing.
His lips were pressed into a thin line, his face the color of old bricks—anger and shame wrestling for dominance.
His eyes glared daggers at Bai Zihan, but he didn't dare open his mouth again.
Bai Zihan didn't even spare him a glance. As far as he was concerned, Duan was already irrelevant.
Princess Feilian stepped forward, her expression composed but thoughtful.
She looked at Bai Zihan, then at the crowd of survivors, then back at her own soldiers and entourage.
"There's something all of you need to understand," she said, her voice clear and steady. "Even the Inner City isn't as safe as it once was."
Murmurs rose immediately.
The survivors had been clinging to hope that the Inner City was a fortress—a paradise untouched by the nightmare that had consumed the outer and middle districts.
For many of them, reaching the Inner City had felt like reaching salvation.
But now—
Feilian continued before the whispers could grow louder.
