The mountain air at the cave's exit was thin and biting, flavored by the acrid scent of Gregory's cigarette. Akhil felt the weight of the emblem in his pocket—a heavy, pulsating warmth that seemed to mock the cold tension radiating from the three groups blocking their path.
Gregory adjusted his cowboy hat, the smoke from his cigarette curling into the dark sky. He looked at Akhil and Layla with a lazy, appreciative squint, then took a step back, gesturing to his own team to stand down.
"I'm a man of leisure," Gregory drawled, his voice smooth and gravelly. "And my gut tells me I've got no business touchin' that emblem today. You two groups go on ahead. Take it if you can."
The lady leading the first group let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "Giving up already, Greg? I knew you were a poser, but I didn't think you were a coward."
The leader of the second group—a tall man with a jagged scar running across his nose—spat on the ground.
