Striking
The convoy moved like a shadow across the ridgeline. No headlights. No unnecessary chatter. Just the low, steady growl of engines and the soft crunch of gravel beneath reinforced tires. Inside the lead transport, the air felt tight. Not panicked. Contained. Iris sat near the rear door, helmet resting beside her, rifle secured across her chest. Across from her, four members of Delta team checked their gear in silence. The faint red glow of interior lights cast sharp shadows across focused faces. Elias sat beside her. Close. Not touching. Outside the narrow window slit, the world had turned to dark silhouettes — jagged hills cutting into a starless sky. “Two hours out,” came Mara’s voice softly over the comms. Then silence again. Time stretched strangely on missions like this.
- Writer
