That moment was as tight as a bowstring. Moonlight slipped through the branches, casting delicate, pale patterns across the clearing.
David's fingers brushed against his sword, and he felt his shoulders tighten as a subtle tension settled in.
In a breath, the wait ended.
David snapped an order, and the four mercenaries surged forward—blades ready, faces twisted with the promise of violence. Robert barely glanced at Emer and Ronan as he called, "The tall one's mine. The rest are yours. Don't let any of them escape."
His friends' eyes went cold and focused. Emer drew his blade in a flicker, its steel flashing, while Ronan set himself to intercept two of the attackers immediately. All at once, the clearing erupted into chaos: shadows flying, steel catching moonlight, and the sharp shout of bodies colliding.
