Chapter 82 – The Low Ground
The ridge fell away into a snarl of brush and frozen gullies, the kind of terrain that made speed impossible unless you knew where to place your feet. Kairo did. Elira, matching his pace, trusted his path without question, even when it meant sliding down loose soil or ducking so low the branches scraped her hood.
Behind them, the voices were closer. The hunters had split into smaller teams again, moving fast, trying to box them in.
Kairo's eyes swept ahead, mapping the land. The low ground was dangerous — not just because it slowed them, but because the damp hollows absorbed sound. You could walk right into someone before you heard them.
He stopped at a fallen pine, its trunk thick enough to hide behind. "Two minutes," he said quietly, checking his rifle.
Elira glanced back toward the ridge. "They're moving quicker than before."
"That's because they think we're running scared." He slung his rifle over his shoulder and pulled the compact SMG from under his coat. "Let's give them something else to think about."
They crouched low behind the pine. Frosted needles brushed against their gloves as Kairo eased his head just enough to see.
Three shapes emerged through the undergrowth, fanning out without breaking formation. They weren't talking. Their rifles were up, movements clean.
Kairo let them come closer. Twenty meters. Fifteen.
The first burst from his SMG tore through the stillness, the echo swallowed by the trees. One man went down hard, his rifle tumbling away. The second dropped to a knee, returning fire — but Elira was already moving, circling to his right and putting two rounds through his shoulder.
The third didn't falter. He shifted sideways, angling for cover, then fired toward where Kairo had been. Kairo was already moving, flanking wide, the SMG barking in short, sharp bursts until the man fell.
Silence again.
Elira knelt by the last body, pulling the spare magazines from his belt. "Foreign issue," she muttered. "This isn't local hardware."
"Vale's reach," Kairo said. "And it means there are more."
They moved on, skirting a narrow gully where ice crusted over slow-moving water. Every sound — the crunch of their boots, the creak of leather — felt magnified in the still air.
Halfway across the low ground, they heard it — the faint, methodical click of a rifle bolt. Not close. Not far enough, either.
Kairo's hand shot up. "Sniper."
Elira's breath slowed, eyes scanning the treeline. "Where?"
"East ridge, maybe sixty meters. That rise just past the gully."
A single shot cracked through the air, hitting the dirt inches from Kairo's boot.
He didn't wait. He grabbed Elira's arm and pulled her into the gully, sliding down the bank into icy water. The shock burned through his boots, but the angle put them out of the sniper's line of fire.
"He's got the ridge," Elira said, keeping low.
"And we're going to take it from him."
They moved through the gully, water sloshing around their ankles, until they found a break in the bank where frost had weakened the earth. Kairo climbed first, every movement slow, deliberate. Elira followed, staying low until they reached a cluster of boulders at the ridge base.
Kairo's eyes found the sniper — a dark silhouette prone against a rock outcrop, his attention fixed on the gully they'd just left.
Kairo signaled three fingers, then two, then one. On zero, they moved. Elira's pistol cracked twice, drawing the sniper's attention just long enough for Kairo to close the distance and fire point-blank.
The man rolled onto his back, a surprised expression frozen on his face.
Kairo crouched, taking the rifle and scanning the scope's sightline. From here, the whole low ground spread beneath them like a map — and in it, more shapes moving toward their last known position.
He chambered a round, exhaled, and began picking them off one by one.
The echo of Kairo's last shot drifted away, swallowed by the pine-lined ridges. Below, the surviving hunters hesitated, their neat formation fraying as they realized the shots were coming from high ground.
"They're spooked," Elira murmured, reloading her pistol. Her eyes stayed on the low ground, tracking every shadow that moved.
Kairo adjusted the sniper's scope, the cold metal biting against his cheek. "Spooked doesn't mean they'll run. Men like this don't leave unless someone tells them to."
"Then we cut the head off."
He gave her a sidelong glance. The way she said it — steady, without hesitation — was why he trusted her when the margins got razor-thin.
The next target stepped into the open, trying to cross toward the cover of a half-fallen tree. Kairo fired. The man dropped before his boots hit the ice.
Shouts erupted from the others. Two broke off, circling wide, one heading east and the other west, trying to flank the ridge.
"They're spreading," Elira said. "That'll put one of them right under us."
"That's the idea."
They slipped from their position, moving along the ridge line until they reached a narrow break where rock gave way to a steep slope. Frosted roots jutted out, making for an uneven descent — and the perfect kill zone.
Kairo crouched behind a rock shelf, sighting down the slope. Elira vanished into the trees to his left, taking the high flank.
Minutes later, the first flanker came into view. His rifle swept the slope, slow and careful, but his focus stayed too high. He didn't see Kairo until it was too late.
One suppressed shot, and the man crumpled into the frost.
The second flanker was smarter — he stayed in the shadows, never lingering in one spot. But he was watching for movement on the ridge, not behind him. Elira dropped from a low branch, her knife catching the pale light as she drove it in under his ribs. She held him there until the fight left his body, then eased him to the ground without a sound.
When she rejoined Kairo, her breath misted in the cold air. "That's two more. How many left?"
"Four, maybe five. But they're pinned now."
He led her back to the sniper's perch, using the ridge's jagged spine for cover. The remaining men had fallen back toward the far treeline, huddled close, scanning for the next shot.
"They'll try to pull out," Elira said.
"Not if we close the back door."
They moved fast, circling downslope until they reached the base of the far treeline. The hunters were still watching the ridge, unaware that the two they pursued were now at their backs.
Kairo signaled for silence.
The first man never saw the barrel pressed to the base of his skull. The muffled crack of the shot dropped him instantly. The rest spun, confusion breaking their cohesion. That was all the opening Elira needed — she cut left, gun low, firing in controlled pairs.
Two fell. One dropped his weapon and ran for the deep brush, but Kairo's rifle barked once, ending it.
The last man — older, his hair shot through with grey — froze with his hands raised. His eyes shifted between them, calculating.
Kairo stepped closer, his voice low and even. "Who sent you?"
The man swallowed hard. "We don't give names."
"That's fine. I don't need your name."
Kairo's next question was colder. "Who gave the order?"
The man hesitated. It was a mistake. Elira moved in, pressing her pistol under his chin.
"Vale," he said finally. "Orders came from him direct."
Kairo's jaw tightened. "Where?"
"Safehouse. East of the city. Old freight yard. That's all I know, I swear."
Kairo nodded once. The man thought it meant mercy — right up until the suppressed shot echoed, and he dropped to the frost.
Elira didn't flinch. "We move now?"
"Now," Kairo said, already stripping ammo and weapons from the fallen. "Before the next wave knows they failed."
They left the low ground behind, moving toward the freight yard with cold precision, every step a reminder: the net had turned, and now it was Vale's men who were being hunted.