The Blackridge Pass narrowed, cliffs of jagged obsidian leaning in like disapproving sentinels.
Mist coiled around the wagon wheels, muffling sound and reducing visibility to hazy silhouettes.
Inside the lead carriage, Fang Lian's senses extended far beyond the plush interior.
She noticed the shift in the wind, the sudden hush of bird calls, and the unnatural stillness in the scrub along the cliffsides.
An ambush point? she wondered.
Opposite her, Fang Ruì shifted, her own Qi subtly flaring as she sensed it too.
Her knuckles whitened on the scroll she still pretended to read.
Outside, Fang Bong's heavy, resentful footsteps near the carriage faltered, replaced by the tense hush of drawn breath from the junior guards.
A sharp, artificial whistle split the mist, high, mocking, the universal bandit call to arms.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
