They reached the base of the mountain range just after noon.
The light had softened—filtered through the narrow crags and dusty haze of the Vermillion peaks, casting long shadows across the winding trail ahead. The path wasn't paved, but the Hollow Fang didn't need it to be. Its suspension adjusted for every rock, every incline, each shift in wind density.
They hadn't spoken since the city faded behind them.
There was no need.
This stretch of land, though tagged on older maps, was a gray zone.
Not a sanctioned hunting ground.
Not a declared safe zone.
Just wilderness—the kind that teetered on the edge of being reclaimed by nature and things worse than nature.
That's how it would be—if they were anywhere else.
Anywhere not cradled in the shadow of Vermillion City.
Because Vermillion wasn't just big.
It was engineered.
