His words took everyone by surprise. "Solan, take him along. Be careful," Arwen said with a nod, looking at him the way a sister might look at her grown brother—eyes full of warmth and pride. "Got it." Solan nodded back. When his wife spoke, he listened. Aside from Theresa and Quentin, he brought forty people with him—Louisa's team among them. They set out in three military pickups, engines rumbling as they rolled out of camp. As they left, Orren brushed past Theresa and muttered under his breath, "Just so you know, I didn't rat you out to my sister, you vain snob." Theresa's lips twitched. Three armored cars sped toward Firestone. It wasn't even nine by the time they arrived. A pale green haze hung over the city like a poisonous shroud. The vehicles stopped on a ridge overlooking the city. Inside, Theresa stared through the windshield at the drifting fog. "Mr. Rowen, do you know where this toxic mist came from?" "It's only appeared in the past two years," Solan said. "I haven't found the source yet." "The past two years?" Theresa frowned. She had assumed the haze came from leaks at the city's many chemical plants, something that usually showed up in the mornings and evenings. But it had been over four years since the apocalypse began. If those plants had really caused it, the leaks would've happened long ago—not just in the last two years. Every zombie in this city had sickly green skin and bulging, bloodshot eyes. Theresa remembered the bodies she'd seen while running through Firestone—earlier corpses, untouched by the green tint. Could it be that this poisonous mist was absorbed by the living dead, forcing them to mutate? "Mr. Rowen, were the zombies here different before the mist appeared? Did they only turn green afterward?" "Yes," Solan said firmly. "And that giant zombie—was it unique to Firestone?" "Yes." He confirmed again. "Only Firestone has it." "I've spent years here," he continued, his tone grave. "Firestone's situation is unlike anywhere else. The zombies here evolve differently. Because of giant zombies and the mist, we had no choice but to abandon the city." As she listened to Solan, a thought slowly took shape in Theresa's mind. Her gaze grew heavy, filled with grim realization. The toxic fog wasn't some random chemical leak. It was deliberate. Someone had released it—someone who wanted these creatures to mutate. A name surfaced in her mind like a shadow rising from the depths. The Starborn Order. It had to be them. Outside, the fog began to thin, revealing the city beneath. The roar echoed from below the ridge, a guttural, animal sound that made the air tremble. Down on the streets spread out beneath them, zombies filled every inch of cracked pavement—swaying, stumbling, their outlines shifting in the fading mist. As the green fog began to clear, several of the creatures caught the scent of the living. They lifted their arms, twitching and jerking, and charged toward the ridge with a chorus of throaty growls. These ones moved differently—faster, stronger, their joints snapping with springlike force. The lead zombie launched itself nearly ten feet into the air, clawing at rocks and roots with frightening agility as it climbed. Within seconds, Theresa saw it appear over the broken ledge—its head lolling to one side, bulging green eyes protruding like swollen blisters. A wet, rasping sound rattled from its throat as it scrambled upward, its excitement almost frenzied. The rough, uneven ground jolted the creature's split abdomen open again, sending coils of intestines and chunks of viscera sagging and falling loose. With every frantic step it took, pieces of dark, pulpy flesh slapped wetly against the ground—soft, blackened bits of something that barely resembled organs anymore. They were probably just rotted strands of intestine or what was left of its shredded insides. Then came a deafening crash. The creature flung itself onto the windshield, its decomposing face pressed flat against the glass. Its jaw gaped wide—far wider than humanly possible—revealing a mouth full of jagged yellow teeth that scraped and ground with a hideous creak. The bulging eyes smashed against the glass, flattening until two thin streams of red-black fluid oozed down like ink. The night filled with their howls—low and guttural. Outside, the grotesque moans of the zombies echoed through the air. Inside the truck, one of the men fumbled for a plastic bag and threw up with a sharp gag, emptying every bite of the instant noodles he'd stuffed himself with that morning. Within seconds, the sour, fermented smell of vomit spread through the cabin.Theresa glanced at Orren in the rearview mirror, watching him retch helplessly in the back seat, her expression laced with open disgust. Seriously? This is the kind of man I have to work with? The others exchanged looks, their eyes glinting with a mix of ridicule and barely restrained laughter.