Max Hartwell leaned against the peeling wall of the cabin, his eyes fixed on the horizon as the sun cast its first light. The tranquility of the woods was a stark contrast to the turmoil boiling inside him. The cabin, a sanctuary in theory, felt like a ticking time bomb. He could almost hear the gears of Russo's retaliation grinding, closing in on them with every passing minute.
Jessica stirred from her makeshift bed on the couch, her face a mask of determination despite the exhaustion etched into her features. "We need to move soon, Max," she said, her voice slicing through the morning air.
Max nodded, his mind already racing ahead. "Agreed. Russo won't rest until we're silenced. We need to strike before he regains his footing."
Violet returned from her perimeter check, her expression grim but resolute. "No signs of movement, but we can't count on it staying that way. What's the plan?"
