The night was thick with the heavy aroma of damp earth and the faint, smell of smoldering firewood as Celine and Ray trailed behind the rogue leader into the heart of the camp. Around them, shadows danced along ragged tents and ramshackle shacks, their surfaces scarred by time and hardship, while flickering torches threw eerie, shifting shapes on the uneven ground.
In clusters around small fires, rough-looking men and women sat in tight circles, some meticulously sharpening their daggers with quick, practiced strokes. Every gaze that met hers carried an unspoken challenge, a silent reminder that she was a stranger in this rugged realm, a reminder that here, loyalty was earned through blood and grit, not given freely.
Ray stayed close to her, his lean figure tense as if ready to spring at any moment, and he murmured under his breath, "This place looks like a disaster waiting to happen," his tone half-amused and half-worried.
