The two special ops units ahead were still moving rapidly, their footsteps virtually silent as they navigated the corridor leading toward the throne room. Borch tailed them from a safe distance, his lean frame blending seamlessly into the shadows cast by mossy stone pillars. Thorne remained three paces behind, short spear already drawn, his eyes locked onto the backs of their two targets.
The air in this passage was cold and damp. Only thin slivers of light seeped through the rocky fissures overhead, barely illuminating the rough outlines of the walls and the slick, moss-covered floor.
The tunnel broadened slightly up ahead. The two operatives paused for a split second, seemingly checking their route, before resuming their march at the same relentless pace.
Borch signaled with a flick of his chin—left for me, right for you. Thorne gave a single, silent nod, adjusting his grip on the spear.
They lunged forward simultaneously.
