Feng Yizhou was already half-awake when the knock came.
"Brother Feng," Chenlu's voice filtered through the door, warm but crisp. "Breakfast is being served. General Wenxiu requests your presence."
He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. The bed was decent, too warm, actually, but his dreams had been strange and unsettled. Fragments of conversation, fleeting images of Qingran, a voice whispering something he couldn't remember.
He swung his legs off the bed and stood, taking a moment to ground himself. A faint aftershock trembled through the floor, light enough to be ignored. Nothing in the room stirred. Zone Four was steady again.
His jacket went back on with practiced ease. His boots were already lined up at the edge of the rug. In three minutes, he was out the door.
The hallway buzzed faintly with controlled activity. Soldiers moved in quiet pairs, weapons slung but not drawn. Survivors were filing toward the mess hall in small groups. No panic. Just routine.
