Moonlight cast a silver sheen over the border trees as Logan crouched low in the underbrush, hand raised for silence. Liz was beside him, twin daggers glinting faintly, her face a mask of deadly focus. Behind them, three elite warriors from each pack fanned out, six shadows melting into enemy territory under cover of darkness.
The rogue lands were colder. Not physically, but in the way the earth felt, like even the soil had given up warmth. No bird calls. No wind. Just a quiet too absolute to be natural.
“I hate it here,” Liz muttered as they moved. “Even the trees are creepy.”
“They probably gossip,” Logan whispered back. “And judge our fashion choices.”
Despite herself, Liz smirked.
They approached a ravine lined with crude fencing. Beyond it, a low, bunker-like structure squatted,
