Every wolf moved like a ghost, whispering of the coming battle, of Fji's army marching under the crimson sky. Yet at the heart of it all stood Evelyn—calm, focused, and burning inside like a blade fresh from fire.
She had been up all night. The war room was littered with maps, weapons, and hastily written reports. Her fingers traced the borders on the parchment again and again, as if she could will the lines to hold. Damien's scent lingered faintly in the air, and that alone gave her strength. He was resting now—or at least she hoped he was.
George entered quietly, his eyes tired but sharp. "They are moving faster than expected," he said. "Scouts saw fire along the eastern ridge. Fji is closer than we thought."
Evelyn looked up, her face unreadable. "How many days?"
"Two at most. Maybe less if the wind favors them."
She exhaled slowly, her mind already spinning. "Then we stop waiting. We prepare tonight. I want every warrior armed, every messenger ready. No hesitation."
