The night in Elarwyn was silent. Far too silent for someone like Kancil.
His eyes snapped open at two in the morning. It wasn't because of a nightmare, nor was it a strange noise. It was something far more subtle—a primal sensation that had saved his life countless times in the grimy back alleys of Bakasa. Instinct.
Kancil sat up slowly in bed. The room was bathed in shadows, illuminated only by the thin slivers of moonlight piercing through the gaps in the curtains. Across the room, Dayat remained fast asleep, lying on his side. His breathing was heavy—a sign of sheer exhaustion after a grueling day of debating with the Elven elders.
In the corner of the room, Dola stood motionless like a decorative statue. Her electric blue eyes were completely dark. Hibernation mode.
Kancil let out a soft, weary breath. "Man, it's way too quiet."
He reached for the Ear-comm on the bedside table and pressed it against his ear. "Sister Dola? Sister Dola? Do you copy?"
