The third checkpoint came and went like clockwork.
Luke and Ilyrana followed the checklist, steps worn smooth by repetition. Inspect the perimeter markers. Check for disturbed soil. Scan the trees. Listen. Breathe. Move.
It had become a rhythm—tedious, yes, but necessary.
After all, routine was safety.
By the time they approached the fourth checkpoint, the wind had grown colder, brushing past them like a quiet warning. Luke, still clutching the list of tasks in his hand, took the lead. He crouched low by a stake embedded in the ground, its wooden tip barely visible in the dark. Carefully, he inspected it, fingers brushing across the symbol carved there, still intact. No tampering.
Just as he reached to note it down on the checklist, he felt a presence close behind.
Ilyrana.
She leaned in—not sudden, but slow and deliberate—and whispered so faintly it barely moved the air.
"They're watching. I saw them. This time… I'm certain."
