The river at dawn looked like a sheet of dull silver, broken only by the jagged black of ice crusts clinging to the rocks. Frost smoke curled low over the water, turning everything beyond a dozen meters into shifting shapes.
Kairo crouched at the ridge's edge, scanning the far bank through his binoculars. No movement. No obvious sentries. That meant one of two things—either the crossing was clear, or the men waiting knew how to make themselves invisible.
Lucio knelt beside him, rifle slung, eyes narrowed. "I don't like it."
"You're not supposed to," Kairo replied, handing the binoculars to Elira.
She pressed them to her eyes, adjusting the focus. The far bank was a narrow strip of gravel and frost, hemmed in by the rising treeline. The fog made it impossible to tell where the bank ended and the forest began.
"No obvious cover near the landing," she murmured. "But if I were setting an ambush, I'd be in the treeline—fifty, maybe sixty meters back. Elevation for a shot, but close enough to rush if needed."
Kairo gave her a brief nod. "Then we assume they're there."
They descended toward the bank, careful to keep low and move in staggered positions. Every step broke the crust of snow, each crack of ice sounding too loud in the heavy air.
When they reached the edge, Kairo motioned for them to stop. "Lucio, you take point across. Elira, you're with me in the middle. We keep distance—ten meters between each of us. If they open fire, scatter into the rocks. No heroics."
Lucio grunted but didn't argue.
The first step into the river was a shock, the icy water instantly soaking through to bone. The current was slow here, but even so, the slick rocks made every movement deliberate.
Halfway across, Elira's eyes kept flicking to the far treeline. The fog shifted, curling like smoke. For a moment she thought she saw it—a glint, like sunlight on glass.
"Left ridge," she murmured.
Kairo didn't look up. "I see it."
They were twenty meters from the far bank when the first shot rang out.
The crack of the rifle split the morning like glass breaking. The shot hit the water a meter from Lucio, spraying a fan of icy droplets into the air. He dropped low instantly, his silhouette shrinking as he dashed for the nearest cover — a jagged rise of rock jutting out from the river.
"Contact—left ridge!" Lucio shouted, already shouldering his rifle.
Kairo's voice was level, but it carried enough force to cut through the echo of gunfire. "Keep moving. Don't bunch up."
The second shot came fast — tighter, more controlled. Elira felt it whistle past her cheek, so close the air seemed to burn against her skin. She dropped her weight, knees bending as she half-stumbled over the slick stones, water splashing to her thighs.
Kairo turned slightly, his pistol already drawn. He didn't fire into the fog — no wasted bullets. Instead, he scanned for the faint tremor of movement, the slight shift of shadow against the treeline.
"There," he said sharply. "Two o'clock. White scarf."
Elira caught it just before the man shifted his weight and vanished back into cover. Whoever they were, they weren't amateurs. They weren't shooting to kill instantly — they were testing range, wind, and movement.
Lucio fired a short, controlled burst into the treeline, the muzzle flash lighting the fog for half a heartbeat. From somewhere in the trees, a voice barked in a language Elira didn't recognize — short, clipped syllables, almost military in rhythm.
"They're flanking," she said, voice tight.
"Then we move faster." Kairo's tone left no room for argument.
They pushed forward, each step a balance between speed and footing. The current tugged at Elira's legs, threatening to pull her sideways. Twice she nearly slipped, the weight of her sidearm and gear pulling her off-center.
Another shot. This one struck the rock just ahead of Lucio, sending shards of stone skittering into the water. He didn't flinch, just used the cover to brace and fire again — one, two, three rounds before he moved.
They reached the far bank in a rush, boots slamming into frozen gravel. Kairo went first, pivoting to cover Elira as she scrambled up behind him. Lucio was last, backpedaling with his rifle raised until he cleared the waterline.
"Go!" Kairo ordered, motioning them toward the treeline.
They ran low and fast, weaving through the first line of trees. The gunfire followed, but the thick trunks and fog broke the shooters' line of sight.
Elira's breath came hard, sharp in the cold air. "Who the hell are they?"
"Foreign contract work," Kairo said without slowing. "Not Vale's usual men. He's paying someone new."
Lucio glanced back toward the river. "They'll be on our heels in less than a minute. We need distance before they push across."
Kairo slowed just enough to speak to both of them. "Then we don't run in a straight line. Lucio — twenty meters out, hook west. Elira, with me — we'll break north and circle. They follow one trail, they lose the other."
Elira's pulse was still pounding from the crossing, but she nodded. This wasn't about outrunning them — it was about vanishing, making the hunters question their path long enough for the hunted to disappear.
Behind them, faint but clear through the fog, came the sound of men entering the water.