Night began to settle, bringing a soft, silver wash across the landscape. Lanterns flickered along the road, glinting off steel. Rhys shifted slightly, letting his eyes sweep the formations once more. "We cut their supply line first," he said. "Those wagons near the stream—they're the key. Without them, their morale will crumble."
Caria nodded. "And if they notice us?"
Rhys smiled faintly, the ghost of a plan forming. "Then they'll never hit the road in force. Puddle will give us leverage. We create confusion, fragment their units. One precise strike at the right moment, and the rest falls apart."
Puddle pulsed, ripples sending small distortions across the shadows on the road. In them, Rhys could see the enemy—every tense muscle, every twitch of caution—without them ever knowing they were observed.
