The storm rolled in before dawn. It began as a slow, sullen pressure in the air, a heaviness that made every breath thick. Then the clouds gathered, layer upon layer, until the sky turned the color of bruised iron. One by one, the stars vanished behind the swelling mass until only the pale smear of the moon remained, swallowed whole in a final gulp of gray.
By the time the first thunder shook the ridges, the camp was already alive with motion. Men and women moved with hurried precision, collapsing tents, lashing gear, securing what little could be kept dry before the heavens broke loose.
"Faster!" Sofia's voice cut through the clamor, sharp as the strike of a blade. She strode through the camp, her cloak snapping in the wind, directing with a clarity that brooked no hesitation. Yet beneath her command was an edge of urgency new even for her. "Stay close once we move. The storm will mask sound, and that means we won't hear them coming."
