Just like Cassian had predicted, it didn't take long.
Three figures descended into the valley under the cover of night, moving with a quiet confidence that made it clear—they weren't just searching. They were hunting.
Each one had a sword strapped diagonally across their back, long and thin—uniform, almost ceremonial. It was easy to tell they were cut from the same cloth. But it was the man in the center, with an average build and a disturbingly calm air about him, who moved like a leader. His presence was heavier, and even without a word, the other two followed his subtle hand gestures without hesitation.
Cassian and Simon stayed deathly still, perched in the darkness beyond the trees, their breathing shallow.
Then the leader stopped just a few paces from the cave entrance.
Cassian's stomach twisted.
In the dim moonlight, he saw the man casually raise a human arm to his mouth—his arm. The one that had been severed earlier. Cleanly cut just above the elbow, still red and raw.
