THE WALK BACK UP THE CLIFF WAS SLOW.
He didn't complain. He didn't snap. He just walked, his eyes fixed on the path ahead.
In the dark, without his supernatural vision, Grayson was at a severe disadvantage.
His demonic sight was failing along with his energy, leaving him with the clumsy, uncoordinated vision of an ordinary man.
Halfway up the trail, his boot caught the edge of a protruding root. A man of his size falling was no small matter.
The ground seemed to shake as he stumbled forward, his arms flailing slightly before he managed to catch himself against a large boulder.
Mailah gasped, reaching out to catch his arm. "Are you okay?"
Grayson remained frozen against the rock for a moment. He slowly pushed himself upright, adjusting his heavy coat with a jerky, angry motion.
"The flora in this region is aggressive," he stated, his face pale in the moonlight. "It deliberately altered its position to impede my advance."
