As the early morning mist clung to the mountainside, Luke stirred from a fitful sleep. The cold had seeped into his bones, and despite their sheltered campsite, the harsh conditions of the mountains weighed heavily on his muscles. He sat up slowly, stretching out the stiffness from the rocky ground beneath him. Ava was already awake, silently sharpening her dagger by the faint light of dawn. Her face was expressionless, but her posture spoke of weariness.
Raven stood apart from them, her silhouette outlined against the rising sun. She had been the first to wake, as usual. There was something almost unnatural about her composure, like she was unfazed by the challenges ahead, always one step ahead. Luke admired it, but it unnerved him as well. What kind of person could remain so steady, so sure in the face of danger?
