The ridge did not echo anymore.
Zubair noticed that first, because he was used to listening for the moment when sound meant danger again. Screams, gunfire, shouting, the sharp crack of something breaking where it shouldn't… none of that lingered anymore.
The best part was that this quiet wasn't tentative or fragile. It sat heavy and settled, like the land itself had decided it was finished hosting violence for the day and sent everyone on their way.
Or it would have if… you know… anyone from the other side was still standing.
Smoke still drifted in uneven bands, catching sunlight and breaking it into dull streaks. Burned metal gave off a faint ticking sound as it cooled. Ice crackled and fractured where Psycho's cold had bitten too deeply into the stone. Somewhere lower down the slope, something collapsed in on itself with a soft, final sound.
No one reacted.
