The fire still clung to Jamie's skin long after they crossed the river. He could feel its heat, hear its crackling roar in the back of his skull. Smoke coiled into the sky behind them, a signal no one could miss. The outpost wasn't just destroyed—it was a beacon announcing defiance.
They marched through the night, exhaustion gnawing at their bones. Elian kept close, his bow dragging against his leg as though it weighed more than steel. Kael carried himself with grim satisfaction, but Jamie knew the look in his eyes; victory was never without cost. Seren walked with a swaggering grin, though his blade still bore flecks of blood. Derah, quiet as ever, moved like a shadow barely tethered to the earth.
When dawn finally broke, the forest no longer felt like sanctuary. Birds stayed silent. The air was heavy, as if waiting. Jamie's instincts screamed what no one yet dared to voice: the regime would not let this go unanswered.
By midday, the truth arrived.
They were moving through a ravine, steep walls on either side, when the first arrow whistled. It struck Kael's shield with a sharp crack, embedding itself deep into the wood. Before he could bark a command, the ravine erupted with sound—horns blaring, boots thundering, steel on steel.
"Ambush!" Seren shouted, raising his sword.
Figures poured down the slopes in blackened armor, the regime's mark splashed red across their chests. These were not raw recruits fumbling through patrol—they were hunters, seasoned and relentless. The forest shook beneath their charge.
Jamie shoved Elian to the ground just as another arrow sliced past. "Stay low!" he roared, drawing his crossbow and firing into the chaos. One soldier fell, another tripped over him, but more surged forward, unending as floodwater.
Kael rallied the front, shield raised, blade swinging. Seren fought like a beast unchained, his grin now a snarl, cutting men down with feral precision. Derah slipped between shadows, daggers flashing, never in the same place twice.
But Jamie saw the trap for what it was—the ravine itself a cage. They had been led here, funneled, cornered.
"Elian!" Jamie barked, hauling the boy upright. "We move now, or we die here."
"I can fight—"
"No. You survive."
Jamie's words cut sharper than steel. He shoved Elian toward the slope, firing bolt after bolt to clear a path. Soldiers turned toward them, but Kael's roar drew some back. Seren cursed, blood streaking his arm, but pressed forward.
The clash became a storm—steel ringing, cries echoing, earth churned to mud beneath boots and blood. Jamie's lungs burned, his ribs screamed with each breath, but he kept moving. Each strike of his knife was precise, each parry born of instinct rather than strength. Survival, always survival.
They clawed their way up the ravine's side, Derah appearing like a ghost to cut down those who pursued. At the crest, Jamie yanked Elian over, both collapsing in the brush.
Below, the battle still raged. Kael stood like a wall, shield broken but unyielding, holding back three at once. Seren fought at his side, rage and loyalty fused in blood-soaked defiance.
"Kael!" Jamie shouted, voice raw.
Kael looked up, eyes burning even in the smoke. He didn't move to climb. Instead, he slammed his broken shield into the ground, driving back his foes. "Get them out!" he bellowed.
Jamie froze, every instinct screaming against leaving him. But Kael's command was iron. Derah grabbed Jamie's arm, pulling him back. "He buys us time. Don't waste it."
They dragged Elian through the trees, the boy weeping with silent fury, until the sounds of battle blurred into the distance. The forest closed around them again, but it no longer felt like a shield. It was a grave waiting to be filled.
By nightfall, they stopped in a hollow, the air heavy with smoke carried on the wind. Kael and Seren had not returned.
Elian sat against a tree, his bow clutched in white-knuckled fists. "We can't just leave them," he said, voice cracking.
Jamie knelt in front of him, gripping his shoulders. "We can't save them by dying too. We live, we wait, and we strike when the time is ours."
Elian's eyes, bright with grief, searched Jamie's face. "And if the time never comes?"
Jamie swallowed the truth that wanted to rise. Instead, he said, "Then we make it."
Derah remained silent, his gaze lost in the flames of a small fire. When he finally spoke, it was a whisper. "The regime doesn't strike blindly. They knew we'd hit the outpost. Someone led them to us."
Jamie's chest tightened. Betrayal was an old wound, one that never truly healed. He looked at Elian, at Derah, at the firelight dancing on their weary faces. Somewhere among them—or beyond—secrets coiled, waiting to strike again.
And in that silence, Jamie understood: the resistance's greatest threat wasn't just the regime's armies. It was the shadows within their own ranks.