The city awoke reluctantly, dragging itself from the haze of night. Smoke from distant fires mingled with the early morning mist, curling lazily through narrow streets and alleys. Cain led the group through the shadows, every step deliberate, silent, purposeful. The remnants of the phantom's attack lingered—a few charred walls, scattered debris, and the eerie sense of eyes still watching.
"We need intel," Cain murmured, voice quiet but firm. "If they're regrouping, we have to know how, where, and when. Any misstep, any overlooked pattern, and we're the ones who vanish."
Hunter's crossbow was slung across his back. He moved like a specter, eyes scanning every window, every rooftop, every alleyway. "I've spotted three more movements near the northern district. Not full squads, yet, but reconnaissance. They're cautious."
Susan shifted her weight, the edge of her blade catching faint glints of sunlight. "Cautious or arrogant? They may think this is a game. That they can predict us."
