The third day wore differently.
The road had stretched longer than expected, the terrain uneven enough to slow their pace without stopping it entirely. By the time the sun dipped low, even the most disciplined among them carried the quiet weight of fatigue.
Still, no one relaxed.
The camp was set with the same precision as the nights before. Fires were kept low, guards rotated without gaps, and the perimeter extended farther than necessary.
Caution had begun to settle into habit.
Aya slept. Not deeply, but enough.
Inside her tent, the rise and fall of her breath had steadied, her body finally conceding to rest after days of constant awareness.
Bason lay near his mistress, finding comfort in her sleep.
The night stretched on.
Then, just as suddenly, he felt and heard something or someone unfamiliar moving outside. He growled. Low, barely audible. His head lifted sharply, ears angling toward the ridgeline beyond the outer perimeter. The sound did not come again.
