The scent of roasted meat and cooking spices soon filled the air, blending oddly with the faint metallic tang of fear that lingered beneath the surface.
Ross watched silently as they moved about, calm and collected, taking careful mental notes of every movement, every arrangement, every slip in their composure.
"Drink some more, Ross!" Wilson called out, slapping a crate for emphasis and laughing as if the night were entirely in his favor.
Ross merely nodded, raising a bottle with a polite smile, drinking steadily while observing the men.
To the group, it appeared he was joining the celebration, enjoying the rare feast.
But in truth, Ross's mind was far elsewhere, cataloging every detail, calculating the consequences, and preparing for what he knew was inevitable.
Wilson's grin widened inwardly as he imagined the night's end.
Outside, more than a hundred men waited in the shadows, ready to swarm the supermarket at a moment's notice.
