It was past noon, and although the sun dominated the sky, its light failed to penetrate the ambient cold. The air remained icy, saturated with that strange mist that enveloped everything, as if it were holding winter in its arms.
Dylan moved silently, knees slightly bent, muscles supple, focused. The mist thickened in irregular patches, sometimes closing around them like a clammy hand. He felt his breath shorten reflexively, his eyes scanning the shadows, the stones, the weapons planted in the ground like warnings.
Ahead of him, Maggie led the way. Calm. Precise. Steady steps. Her axe on her back, ready to speak for her.
Behind, Élisa closed the trio, her daggers at the ready, golden eyes piercing every movement between the tombstones. A born huntress. Each of her steps seemed to anticipate the terrain's traps.
This was their second hunt of the day.
