KELLY THOMPSON'S POV
The night was a cloak we wore, black and suffocating, as we navigated the treacherous whispers of the forest. Every shadow seemed to stretch with malice, every rustle a harbinger of bloodshed. The fragile peace of our recent rescue still trembled in my veins when the stench of The Black Faes' guards fouled the air.
"Positions," I hissed, voice barely a breath on the wind. Elara melted into the shadows, an extension of the darkness itself. Thorne's massive form became surprisingly fluid, blending with the gnarled trees. Eden, young and fierce, stood ready, his hand gripping the scepter that pulsed with silent promise.
We didn't have to wait long. The crunch of leaves underfoot signaled their approach—five of them, clad in armor that glinted like the eyes of predators. I could feel the electric tension among us, a silent symphony of anticipation and resolve.