By now, the civilian safe zone had been reduced to rubble—bodies of victims scattered everywhere.
As soon as Landon stepped off the private jet, he sprinted toward what was left of the safe zone, wild with desperation.
“Zinnia! Zinnia!” he shouted, his voice cracking.
He looked like a lost child, standing dazed in the midst of the carnage, helpless and broken. Then, as if driven by some last shred of hope, he began frantically searching the ruins for any sign of Zinnia.
Chandler was right behind him, and he wasn’t faring much better.
In just two days, it was as if all the life had been drained from him. His eyes were vacant, his frame gaunt—he hardly looked like himself.
The two men dug through the wreckage, again and again, clinging to a sliver of hope. Both were terrified of not finding her, yet somehow even more afraid that they would.
Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away in an old farmhouse, Zinnia slowly regained consciousness.
A nervous voice sounded in her ear. “Cozy, Cozy, wake up!”
She opened her eyes. The sharp scent of gunpowder still lingered in the air. Her mind struggled through the haze.
Suddenly, the memories flooded back, and she jolted upright.
She looked over at Yuri, who was tied up nearby. Her voice trembled. “The safe zone… what happened?”
“Shh. Not now,” Yuri whispered, cutting her off.

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