The night grew colder. The wind whispered through the grass, carrying the scent of earth and something else—something metallic.

  Lucius could feel it now. The shift in the air.

  The Parthians weren’t just watching anymore.

  They were closing in.

  ?

  Shadows at the Edge of Sight

  His grip on his gladius was iron-tight as he scanned the darkness. The other guards were doing the same, their breaths slow, controlled, waiting.

  Then—another sound.

  Not an arrow this time. Not the wind.

  Footsteps.

  Light. Careful. Multiple.

  Lucius barely caught the flicker of movement beyond the barricades—figures shifting in the tall grass, creeping closer.

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  He turned slightly, just enough to see Optio Varro, who was already watching him.

  Varro gave a single, deliberate nod.

  They knew.

  The Parthians weren’t waiting until dawn.

  ?

  A Second Death

  Further down the line, another sentry tensed, peering into the night. His mouth opened—perhaps to whisper a warning.

  But he never got the chance.

  A blur of motion. A glint of steel.

  Something fast and silent slammed into him—a Parthian raider leaping from the darkness, a curved blade flashing beneath the moonlight.

  The sentry stiffened, a strangled breath escaping his lips before the blade was yanked free.

  His body slumped without a sound.

  Lucius’ pulse pounded in his ears.

  That was it. The signal.

  They were inside the camp.

  ?

  The Whisper Before the Storm

  Lucius felt his muscles coil, every instinct screaming for action.

  But not yet.

  The raider slipped back into the darkness, but he wasn’t alone anymore. More figures moved in the grass.

  Parthians. Dozens of them. Maybe more.

  Lucius’ breath came slow and steady as he shifted his stance. His body knew what was coming.

  They all did.

  A single mistake—a single misplaced sound—and the entire camp would wake in chaos, unprepared, surrounded.

  He could feel Marcus beside him, his friend’s grip tight on his own weapon.

  Then, at the far end of the perimeter—a sharp clatter.

  A soldier’s boot, slipping against loose gravel.

  The night swallowed the noise immediately, but it was enough.

  The Parthians heard it.

  A moment of absolute silence.

  Then—

  A scream.