Eira's pov
They always say the quiet before the storm is the worst part. The stillness. The anticipation. The way your breath sounds too loud in your ears and your fingers twitch against your rifle like they're trying to move before your mind gives the order.
They're right.
We reached the farmhouse at first light,just as the grey sun began to creep over the treetops, bleeding through the mist like a wound. The building looked ordinary from the outside. Weather-worn shutters. A collapsing barn beside it. But underneath it all, it stank of Snow.
I could feel it.
Rot hidden beneath wallpaper.
Kira motioned toward the front. "Two guards. No alarms. They're relaxed. We go silent."
Draven gave a sharp nod from where he crouched behind a fallen tree, watching through his scope. "On your mark, Eira."
I moved.
Fast.
Years of training and pain had carved me into something sharp. Something that struck before it hesitated.
