It did smell fetid, and Qebhet had no idea how stable the wreck was. She didn't relish the prospect of picking her way through so much rot and broken glass and sharp metal edges in the darkness. But if the bus was where Kaden felt secure in this moment, then she wasn't going to demand he trade that away for the sake of her comfort. She could tread carefully, and mud and grime would wash out.
The floor groaned as she climbed aboard and glass (or gravel, or some other debris; she couldn't see) crunched beneath her feet. She felt her way along the bus cautiously until she reached Kaden and (after a quick probe of the seat with her fingertips found nothing more threatening than slashed vinyl and the dank remnants of padding) took a seat on the opposite side of the aisle. The damp bled through the seat of her dress at once, and she tried not to think of the filth and mould soaking through the fabric and clinging to her skin.