The rain arrived sometime during the night.
By dawn, a thin mist clung to the forest, winding itself between the trees and settling across the camp like a pale veil. Water dripped steadily from the shelter roofs while the scent of wet earth lingered heavily in the air.
Nyra stood beneath the overhang of the largest shelter, watching the camp awaken around her.
The morning should have felt peaceful.
Instead, it felt fragile.
Not because anything was wrong.
Because everything was working.
The patrols moved through their rotations without needing reminders. Supplies were distributed efficiently. Training schedules had become routine. Even the newer arrivals already understood where they belonged and what was expected of them.
Weeks ago, none of this had existed.
Now it felt natural.
