An unwelcomed visitor

The dawn broke with a faint glow over the treetops, casting the forest in hues of soft gold and gray. Jasmine awoke to the sound of birds overhead, their songs muted by the dense canopy. She stretched, the stiffness in her muscles reminding her of the rough sleep she'd had against the cold, hard ground. Caden was already up, crouched near the remains of the campfire, stirring the ashes with a stick. His eyes were sharp, scanning the surroundings as if he were expecting something—or someone.

"Didn't sleep?" Jasmine asked, her voice groggy as she stood, brushing dirt off her clothes.

Caden shook his head, his face grim. "I thought I heard something in the night. Footsteps, maybe. Could've been an animal, but I didn't want to risk it."

Jasmine's heart quickened. "Do you think they're close?"

"I'm not sure. But I don't think we're alone in these woods anymore."

Jasmine glanced around, the eerie silence of the forest now heavy with tension. The wind had stilled, and the usual sounds of morning—chirping birds, rustling leaves—seemed distant, swallowed by the looming trees. There was something off, something wrong. The air felt too still, too quiet. A warning.

"We should move," Caden said abruptly, standing and gathering his things. "I want to put as much distance between us and this spot as possible before anyone can catch our trail."

Jasmine nodded, her fingers tightening around the straps of her pack. As she moved to follow him, she caught a glimpse of movement at the edge of the clearing. She froze, her breath hitching in her throat.

A figure stepped out from the shadows, his silhouette dark and menacing against the dim light filtering through the trees. He was tall, draped in a cloak that blended with the forest, his face obscured by a hood. A sword hung at his side, its hilt gleaming in the faint sunlight.

Jasmine's hand instinctively moved to the dagger at her belt. "Caden…"

Caden turned sharply, his body going rigid as he saw the figure approaching. His hand rested on the hilt of his own blade, but he didn't draw it—yet.

"Who are you?" Caden called, his voice steady but laced with caution.

The figure didn't answer immediately. He stepped closer, his boots crunching softly against the forest floor. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost casual. "You're a long way from safety, travelers. These woods aren't kind to strangers."

Jasmine's pulse quickened. She could see his face now—hard, weathered, with sharp eyes that seemed to miss nothing. He wasn't a soldier, not in the usual sense. There was no insignia, no uniform, but something about him set her on edge.

"We're just passing through," Caden said, his tone calm but firm. "No need for trouble."

The man smiled, but it was a cold, empty smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Trouble has a way of finding people like you."

Before either of them could respond, two more figures emerged from the trees behind him, both armed, both wearing the same shadowy cloaks. Jasmine's grip on her dagger tightened. This wasn't a random encounter. These men had been following them, watching.

Caden's posture shifted subtly, his body tense, ready to react. "What do you want?"

The leader of the group, the man who had first spoken, took another step forward, his gaze flicking between them. "You're carrying something," he said, his eyes narrowing on Caden's pack. "Something valuable. We've been watching you for a while. We know who you are."

Jasmine's heart sank. The letter. It was always the letter. Word had traveled faster than they had hoped, and now their pursuers weren't just soldiers—they were mercenaries, hunting for the very thing that could tear the regime apart.

"We don't have anything worth taking," Caden said, his voice dangerously low.

The man chuckled, a soft, mocking sound. "I think you do." He motioned to one of his men, who stepped forward, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Hand over the pack. We don't want to hurt you, but we will if we have to."

Jasmine's blood ran cold. She exchanged a glance with Caden, her mind racing. They couldn't hand over the letter. It wasn't just their lives at stake—everything they'd fought for, everything they'd risked, depended on that document reaching the right hands. But three armed men against the two of them in the middle of the forest? The odds were grim.

Caden's jaw clenched, his eyes hard. He stood slowly, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade, but he didn't draw it. "You're making a mistake."

The leader's smile faded, replaced by a look of cold indifference. "No, you're the ones who made the mistake. You should've stayed hidden. Now you'll pay the price."

In a flash, Caden drew his sword, the metal gleaming in the early morning light. The mercenaries reacted instantly, their blades sliding free from their scabbards. Jasmine's heart pounded in her chest as she stepped back, her own dagger in hand.

The first clash of steel rang out, sharp and violent. Caden moved with a deadly precision, his blade meeting the mercenary's with a force that sent sparks flying. Jasmine felt her body move before her mind could catch up, darting forward to intercept the second man who lunged at her. She blocked his strike with her dagger, the impact jarring her arm, but she didn't let up.

The leader stood back, watching with an amused expression as his men fought. He seemed confident, almost bored, as if he knew the outcome before the fight even began.

Jasmine's blood boiled at the sight. She ducked under a wide swing and slashed at the mercenary's side, drawing blood. He hissed in pain but didn't back down. She could feel her energy draining, her movements slowing, but she couldn't stop. Not now.

Caden, locked in a brutal dance of strikes and parries, was faring little better. He was fast, but the mercenaries were trained, relentless, pushing him back toward the trees.

"We have to get out of here!" Jasmine shouted, breathless, as she parried another blow. But there was nowhere to run. The forest closed in around them like a cage.

With a sudden, furious strike, Caden disarmed his opponent, sending the man's sword flying into the underbrush. But before he could finish him, the leader of the group stepped forward, drawing his own blade with a practiced ease that sent a chill down Jasmine's spine.

"Enough games," the leader said, his voice cold and sharp as the steel in his hand. "Let's end this."

Jasmine's heart pounded. They were outnumbered, outmatched. And now, with the leader joining the fray, she wasn't sure they could win.

The fight wasn't over. But survival seemed a distant hope.