The forest surrounding the border of the territory was shrouded in a thick, suffocating mist that dampened every sound and distorted the moonlight. Gillian moved through the undergrowth with the silent grace of a predator, his senses heightened to the point of pain. Every snapping twig felt like a thunderclap, and every rustle of the leaves set his nerves on edge. He was alone, his decision to hunt Ghea’s superior without the knowledge of the Syndicate acting as both a liberation and a death sentence. If he succeeded, he would finally resolve the internal conflict that had been eating at his soul; if he failed, he would have no backup to pull him from the fire.
He stopped near the edge of a clearing, the damp earth beneath his boots clinging to the soles. His breath hitched in his chest,
