The evening wind pressed low against the southern borderlands, bending the grass like waves in a gray-green sea. Selene stood on the watchtower, her armor still dusted with dried rain, her side aching beneath the bandages. Below her, the outpost prepared for nightfall—the clang of metal, the murmur of soldiers, the clatter of crates moved to reinforce the eastern wall.
Routine should have been comforting.
Instead, every noise felt like a warning.
Captain Roran climbed the steps to join her. "Commander," he said with a quiet nod. "The scouts have returned."
Selene's fingers tightened around the railing. "And?"
Roran exhaled. "The Hollow Prince's vanguard will reach the forest line in two days. Less, if they force march."
So soon.
Selene forced her thoughts to still. "Numbers?"
"Between three hundred and five hundred, according to the scouts."
"More than double our men."
"Yes," Roran said grimly. "And they're not scattered. They're marching like an army."
