Nash’s pov
The rain had stopped by midnight, leaving a thick, freezing fog hanging over the pine ridge at the southern border of Moonlight Town.
I sat on a fallen log beside a small, hidden campfire tucked beneath a granite ledge, half a mile past the town’s outer perimeter posts. Wylie had unbuckled his heavy riding vest, sitting quietly on an iron supply crate across from me, while Tabitha crouched near the embers, her dark wool cloak pulled tight around her chin.
My broadsword rested flat across my knees, its steel blade damp with mountain mist.
"Nash," Wylie spoke up softly, his deep voice cautious. "The local guard knows we're camped here. They've doubled the border patrols along the treeline. If we stay out here past sunrise, the town council will treat this as an illegal blockad
