The night had deepened, cloaking the world in a velvety darkness that seemed almost palpable. Vela and Loxley, nestled high among the branches of an ancient oak, found themselves enveloped in a rare kind of silence—one that was as comforting as it was eerie.
"You know," Loxley whispered, his breath warm against Vela's ear, "if the rebels ever run out of missions for us, we could always become professional tree huggers."
Vela chuckled softly, the sound mingling with the rustle of leaves. "Only if we get to pick the trees. This one's a keeper."
"Agreed," Loxley murmured, tightening his embrace around her. Below them, the forest floor was a mosaic of shadows and moonlight, a landscape that seemed to belong to another world—a darker, wilder one.
