The Apocalyptic Queen's Werewolf Journey (Thora and Darius) novel Chapter 478

Shirley's hands were forced onto the steering wheel before she even had time to process what was happening. Thora had already used the car as cover, leaping from the taxi's hood onto the cargo truck ahead.

Their position fell perfectly within the truck's rearview mirror blind spot, so no one in the cab noticed a thing.

Shirley, meanwhile, was a complete wreck. Her hands trembled nonstop, her pretty little face scrunched up in distress, lips quivering as she whimpered, "Who am I? Where am I? Thora ... how do I drive this thing?"

She was crying the whole time, and yet somehow her hands kept the wheel steady, the car rolling forward at its previous speed as if on autopilot.

Only then did she understand what Thora had meant by "you're about to learn."

But could someone please tell her how to hit the brakes?

...

After landing on the truck, a flash of blue light passed through Thora's eyes as she activated her telekinesis ability. The lock on the cargo hold popped open on its own instantly.

She quietly pulled the cargo door open, slipped inside, and shut it behind her.

The hold was pitch black. The truck's cab and cargo compartment were completely separated by design, allowing for easy container swaps during transit. Because of this, the people in the cab had no idea anyone had gotten in.

The hold was stacked with crate after crate of cargo, their contents impossible to make out in the dark.

Every box was sealed tight. Forcing one open would only invite unnecessary trouble.

Thora drew the combat knife from her belt, slid the blade gently into one of the crates, then pulled it out just as quickly.

She studied the residue clinging to the blade, dabbed a bit onto her fingertip, and brought it to her nose.

Rare raw materials.

And she remembered clearly—this particular material was only sourced from the Golden Triad region. On the open market, it was worth a fortune.

If this entire truckload was filled with the stuff, it would be enough to set an ordinary person up for two lifetimes.

She moved to the other crates, puncturing each one with her knife. Nearly all of them contained the same precious material.

Had she been wrong? Was this really just a standard Hawthorne transport vehicle with no connection to the counterfeit syndicate at all?

Thora mulled it over for a moment, then quickly sent a message to Luke before turning her full attention to tracking the truck's route.

There were four people in the cab. One was driving. The other three looked relaxed on the surface, but their hands stayed in a constant state of armed readiness, with a stash of firearms concealed just behind them.

The truck gradually turned into an area with fewer and fewer pedestrians, the roads growing more and more remote.

After about another ten minutes of driving, the outline of a factory emerged from the darkness, and the truck headed straight for its main gate.

By now, the sky had gone from dusk to full darkness. Winter nights came fast—by around 6 p.m., visibility had already dropped to almost nothing.

Thora lifted her nose and caught the scent of machine oil hanging in the air.

What were they planning? A simple offload, or were they going to separate the counterfeit bills from the hidden compartment and reroute them through a different channel?

No... Thora's nostrils flared ever so slightly.

Beneath the heavy smell of machine oil, there was something else—the faint trace of gunpowder and the cold, metallic bite of weaponry.