The canyons continued to stretch before them, their rust-colored walls closing in with every mile. Nathan led the party through the narrow passes, the red sky above was a constant, oppressive presence, and the air tasted of ash and old blood.
They had been marching for a day and a half since the confrontation with Morrigan. No further attacks had come—no corrupted swarms, no ambushes, no sign that the Court was even aware of their presence. But Nathan knew better than to trust the silence. Morrigan was wounded, but she was still out there. And Fester's reach extended far beyond the western sector.
Smithy walked beside Nathan, his Void Eel drifting at his feet. "We're making good time. If we keep this pace, we'll reach the FOB by nightfall tomorrow."
"Assuming Morrigan doesn't hit us again," Dillon said. He was at the rear with Cloudy, his Storm Striders crackling faintly. "She's been quiet. Too quiet."
