The convoy compound looked like an island of order in an ocean of chaos.
House Aurin's mercenaries had fortified the position with professional efficiency—reinforced barriers creating a defensive perimeter, lamp posts arranged to maximize illumination coverage, medical tents established with proper supply chains maintaining functionality.
Captain Selene stood at the compound's entrance, her Adept-level presence radiating controlled authority as she assessed arriving survivors with calculating precision.
"Hmm… the candidates," she identified as Bright's group approached, her enhanced perception cataloging their injuries and exhaustion with clinical accuracy. "Expected arrivals. You're cleared for entry. Medical facilities are third tent on the left. Get treatment, get rest, wait for the formal transport arrangements."
There was no warmth. No sympathy. Just a professional acknowledgment that they were contractual obligations requiring protection.
