In the night sky, a meteor streaked across.

It was the first meteor shower since that night three years ago.

The night sky was beautiful, filled with a deep, dazzling blue.

This time, Hannah didn’t look up or smile, she just squatted in the corner, hugging herself, murmuring, "Why don’t you all want me anymore?"

*

James couldn’t find Hannah.

He came once every week, doing nothing but watching from a distance.

He had found a job in the eastern arena, usually responsible for cleaning up blood and bodies from the ground, and sometimes he would enter the arena himself.

The main currency on the eastern side was a kind of transparent stone that was said to be equivalent to silver coins outside.

James had been saving them, still rummaging through bins when hungry.

He was late today because of a match.

When he arrived, he still bore wounds on his body.

But Hannah was gone.

The door of the stone house was wide open, the pumpkin lantern that had been at the door for a long time lay on the ground, crushed, and everything inside the house was a mess, everything that could be taken was gone.

They had even taken the tables and chairs, leaving behind only some pretty but impractical decorative items.

Hannah wasn’t inside.

James didn’t hesitate and immediately started asking the nearby people.

Over the three years, the population in the refugee area had changed waves, but those who were truly powerful and familiar with the rules had survived.

This included James from three years ago.

He was still the boss.

When James located the man, he and his subordinates were dividing the items they had stolen from the stone house.

Food, utilities, and the firewood needed for winter.

Winter was approaching again.

"Where did that little witch run off to?" one queried.

"Who knows? I heard someone saw her running to the north, seemed like she was going to find Archer," another responded.

"Leave her be, she hasn’t come back for so many days, besides, we’ve already taken everything, you don’t plan to return them, do you?"

Mention of returning the items made everyone disagree.

Over the years, small groups had gradually formed in the refugee area, after all, there’s strength in numbers.

But no matter how strong these "forces" were, they dared not trouble Hannah lightly.

In these past three years, no one who had troubled Hannah had returned.

Neither alive nor dead, just like the witch from the beginning.

This time, they had watched for almost a week, thinking Hannah wouldn’t come back before they moved into her house and took the items.

While they were celebrating, none of them noticed James approaching until James, who was the happiest, was knocked to the ground by a punch, only then did the others react.

In three years, James had become not only fierce in gaze but also exceptionally brutal in action.

All self-taught tricks from the arena, used to seeing beasts tear each other apart, it seemed as if the thirst for blood and madness had seeped into his bones.

The leader, James, was grounded, and James continued to rain punches down on him.

With each punch, he asked, "Where is Hannah?"

James’s face was covered in blood, his teeth broken, lodged in his mouth and throat, making it hard for him to breathe, let alone speak.

The others were also on the ground, with no visible wounds but bones broken to varying degrees.

James’s throat had been crushed, his eyes turned white.

James stood up, his face, hands, and chest covered in swathes of blood.

The bright red blood dripped from his fingertips.