Planning the Final Assault

The night was cold, and though the sky glittered with stars, a heaviness settled in the air, making it hard to breathe. The weight of what was to come pressed down on us, a silent companion to the crackling embers that offered little warmth. We had barely set up camp when Aria handed me a canteen of water. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, were always scanning the perimeter, always alert to the next danger. Her posture was rigid, as though bracing herself for the inevitable.

“We’ll need to move fast,” she said, her voice low but steady. “We can’t afford another ambush like the last.”