Ethan watched the Blade Syndicate's column draw closer, his gaze sharpening as the distance steadily closed. One by one, everyone on the war machine's deck rose to their feet, hands tightening around their weapons. The enemy army lay less than fifty kilometers ahead, while Blade Syndicate was pressing in from behind, an uncomfortable pincer forming around the Alliance's position.
Murmurs spread across the deck. What were they trying to do? Marcus was reckless, sure, but surely not foolish enough to attack now. If Blade Syndicate wanted a fight, logic said they would wait until after the Alliance clashed with the coalition. Someone started to voice that thought aloud, then cut off midsentence.
Blade Syndicate's column suddenly slammed to a halt.
At the same moment, Marcus shot upward on his flying mount, breaking formation and soaring ahead alone toward the Alliance. Ethan shook his head as he watched.
"Too bad," he said quietly.
