Amidst the suspense that gripped the forest, Adelita's hands moved with a deliberate purpose. From the depths of her pocket emerged a small bag of pills—her trusted smoke bombs. The existence of these concealed tools was a remnant from her previous life, a time when she had treaded the shadows alongside Tedros, always prepared for an unexpected turn of events. Smoke bombs, hemostatic herbs, wound dressings, and even poisons—all had been part of her arsenal, a reflection of the life she once led.
As her fingers closed around the familiar weight of the smoke bomb, Adelita's lips curved into a sardonic smile. She held up the small, unassuming object as if it were a prized possession, her gaze sweeping over the roasted deer thigh in her other hand. The irony of holding a smoke bomb in one han
