Commander Li Wenqiang did not lower his rifle.
He stood exactly where he was, his boots planted on polished flooring that had no right to be this clean in the middle of the end of the world. His attention was fixed on the man holding out a bowl of popcorn like armed soldiers entering the house was a mild inconvenience instead of a tactical breach.
Behind Li, his team maintained a tight formation without needing another order. Chen still covered the left side of the room. Wang held the right. Liu remained at the door, creating a barrier between the inside of the house and the world outside. Tan stayed close enough to support Li if the room turned in a single second from quiet domesticity to blood.
And still, the man in the kitchen did not seem interested in any of that.
He kept the bowl raised for another heartbeat, his expression easy and unreadable, before lightly shrugging one shoulder and setting it down on the counter beside the microwave.
