The gully walls trapped the heat. Smoke pooled against the stone ceiling like inverted fog, thick enough to taste. Eloy's eyes watered. The orange glow to the north pulsed brighter every minute.
[ DEVIATION SENSE: CAUTION ]
[ SURVIVAL MODE: ACTIVE ]
The minimap was a red-veined mess. Ten signatures formed a loose crescent three hundred meters out, tightening. The fire was a fence. Herd the prey toward the gap. Put them down in the clearing. Aggro radius. Funnel mechanic. Kill box. Being on the receiving end sucked.
Isolde stood at the gully's dead end, fingers pressed flat against the mossy stone. Her silence was focused. Her fingers moved across the stone in short, deliberate strokes. She was mapping it from muscle memory.
Maya sat on a fallen log, satchel clutched to her chest. The ledger pages were in there. Dry. Intact. Four kilometers from the capital and the most valuable paper in the kingdom. Her fan stayed closed. A tell. She was scared.
