The Council storehouse loomed ahead, seemingly abandoned, its towering silhouette a dark smudge against the starless sky. Taryn crouched behind a crumbling wall, her breath misting in the cold air. Her sharp eyes scanned the perimeter, tracking every flicker of movement—or lack thereof.
Lucien leaned casually beside her, arms crossed, his usual smirk unbothered by the weight of the mission. "No guards out front," he mused.
Taryn's grip tightened on the hilt of her blade. "They'll be ready inside."
Lucien tilted his head toward her, but before he could speak Kah'el's voice cut through the air. "Your optimism is a joy."
Kah'el materialized from the shadows with the ease of someone who knew the darkness would part for him. His black cloak billowed slightly in the wind, and he didn't bother with cover. His approach carried a confidence that boarded on arrogance, and it made Taryn's jaw clench.
