The morning mist hung low over the Whisper Valley, blanketing the winding pine-bordered trade road in a thick, ghostly shroud.
From a ridge overlooking the valley, hidden within the dense shadow of the snow-dusted pines, Cassian and I watched the road below. I wore a dark leather riding coat tailored for the cold mountain air, a silver-hilted dagger fastened to my hip. beside me,
Cassian stood motionless, his heavy black fur cloak draped over his broad shoulders, his dark eyes—sharp as a hawk’s—tracking every movement on the valley floor.
Below us, the decoy convoy crept forward.
Twelve heavy wooden supply wagons, their canvas covers pulled tight over massive crates, rumbled slowly along the dirt track. Four junior Lycan soldiers rode at the front on dark warhorses, their iron armor g
