It was dawn in the Scorching Desert.
A dull orange light bled over the horizon, casting long shadows across the sand. The cohort moved slowly, packing tents and securing supplies with mechanical focus. A brittle silence hung in the air—too tired for argument, too uneasy for peace.
Joseph stood near the fire pit, arms crossed and jaw clenched. He'd insisted they remain in the camp for the rest of the system's trial, as he was determined to keep anyone else from abandoning the pack.
But the Grey Monk had shattered that plan with just two words.
"We move. Monsters."
James had pressed him, trying to draw more from the man's stoic lips, but the Monk only repeated himself; his voice was flat and final.
Damien worked quietly beside Blythe, helping her dismantle a worn canvas tent—the one that used to belong to her and Riley. Jenna and Joseph labored nearby, assisting James and the Monk without saying much. The air between them crackled with things left unsaid.
