The air was sharp here. Every breath came edged, scraping like cold metal through the lungs.
Lucian and Lucy moved in silence, boots sinking into the gravel-strewn road that cut through the canyon of towers. The fog ahead clung low, pale and heavy, but through it shapes loomed—tents, stakes, a faint orange glow from a fire that didn't belong to humans.
Lucian crouched near the shadow of a broken pillar. His eyes narrowed. The camp sprawled across the clearing like a military nest. Tents were aligned in rows, rope lattices strung overhead, weapons racked in neat formation. Even the firepit was structured, stones stacked like it had been designed, not stumbled upon.
Lucy leaned beside him, lowering her voice. "This isn't wild. They built this."
Lucian scanned the ground. No footprints. No scent trails. Nothing careless. "They're disciplined."
"Disciplined monsters?" she muttered. "That's new."
