Logar, Afghanistan;
Rakhatal, 12:00;
"Good morning, Zayan.", Rong Xinghe stepped into a tent that matched her own in size. A reserved smile played on her lips, her voice resonating with a masculine timbre. "Where are you heading?", she asked, noticing the man preparing his rifle.
"Inspection of the villages around.", Zayan Mirza chuckled, his eyes on the weapon in his hands, "It's the routine. Anyway, meet Jarood here.", he said, pointing his chin to the man standing roughly five meters from him.
Rong Xinghe and Shawn Florence glanced at the man in his fifties, and offered him a faint nod, acknowledging his presence. Even though their interaction was for, but barely seconds, Rong Xinghe felt something off about that man. Jarood's hawk-like eyes were sharp and skeptical, revealing a mistrust that lingered in the air. There was an unmistakable chill in his demeanor- as if he wasn't entirely welcoming her presence. Now that was a problem, wasn't it?
