The afternoon stretched slowly, warmed by a lazy sun and soothed by the steady sounds of campfires crackling here and there.
The ground had been stabilized for the night: a temporary but orderly halt, marked by the silhouettes of tents, weapons resting within reach, and the discreet comings and goings of messengers.
Cliff hadn't left his tent since Katia's return. Reports arrived one after another, carefully filtered by his seconds, stacked on the low table in front of him. Every mission, every bit of intel, every movement... it all passed through his eyes. Not because he distrusted his officers, but because he couldn't afford not to know.
Because this wasn't a war—not officially. Just a well-oiled expedition. A "security" operation in the Southern zones. But Cliff wasn't fooled: every new outpost, every village visited, every local chief "convinced"… it was one more step toward regional domination.
