The ridge loomed above them, jagged stone cutting into the night sky like the spine of some ancient beast. Wind hissed through the gaps, carrying with it the faint scent of smoke from Dominion’s riders below. There would be no turning back.
“Keep your hands on the stone, your eyes on your footing,” Elira ordered, her voice steady. She placed herself at the front, testing each step before signaling the next to follow.
The rebels began their ascent, a line of shadows against the rock face. Packs clinked softly, boots scraped, and breath came in harsh whispers.
Kael moved near the middle. His body protested every pull upward—his ribs burned, his muscles shook—but he forced himself higher. Mira climbed just ahead, glancing back often, her brow furrowed with worry.
“You slip,” she muttered,
