The morning air was crisp, a faint mist clinging to the forest floor. The camp stirred slowly, mercenaries emerging from their makeshift shelters with wary glances. Taryn stood near the fire, her arms crossed as she faced Ryken, the leader of the group. His scarred face was unreadable, his axe resting within easy reach.
"You've got one night to convince me," Ryken had said the previous evening. Now, his gaze flicked between Taryn and Lucien, his posture tense but curious. "Well? Start talking."
Taryn didn't flinch under his scrutiny. "You've seen the Council's tactics. How long do you think you'll last if they decide you're more useful dead than alive?"
Ryken's lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn't interrupt. The other mercenaries gathered around, their expressions a mix of skepticism and interest.
