The morning mist in the gorge was so thick it swallowed the rocky ground three paces ahead.
Mistfall Gorge was a jagged tear in the basalt earth, bounded by sheer cliff faces that rose two hundred feet into the overcast sky.
Below, the roaring waters of the mountain river masked the sound of footsteps, making it a graveyard for any convoy caught unprepared.
I stood on the eastern ridge, four hundred yards above the canyon floor, wrapped in a heavy fur cloak against the biting wind. Beside me, Cassian stood silent and immobile, his silver eyes cutting through the fog below like searchlights. Forty Lycan executioners were crouched along the treeline behind us, their armor coated in dark grease to eliminate glare, their weapons drawn and ready.
Down in the canyon, the decoy convoy moved
