Cassandra was growing increasingly nervous as they walked. The narrow streets of the wasteland were alive with noise—vendors calling out their wares, clinking of makeshift tools, and distant arguments blending into the ambient chaos.
But amidst all that, her sharp instincts were tuned to one thing: the soft, steady footfalls behind them.
She slowed her pace slightly, glancing over her shoulder as inconspicuously as possible. There he was. The same man, sticking just close enough to follow but far enough to avoid suspicion. Cassandra's eyes narrowed, and she turned forward again, leaning closer to Mara.
"Walk faster," she said under her breath, her voice steady but urgent. "Not too fast. We can't let him know we've noticed."
Mara's steps quickened slightly, though her shoulders stiffened. "What does he want?" she whispered back.
"I don't know," Cassandra murmured. "But I doubt it's for a friendly chat."
