One Week Later-Northern Oil Fields
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Inside the command tent, the air was thick with the scent of gun oil and stale sweat.
A single electric lantern flickered like a dying heartbeat, casting elongated shadows across maps strewn haphazardly over the makeshift table.
General Dravik,an imposing figure with a face chiseled from granite and eyes like flint,leaned over the tactical display, fingers tracing severed supply lines.
From across the table, Ethan watched intently, his posture relaxed yet alert.
Gunnar loomed behind him, a silent guardian in matte-black armor, his scarred face betraying no emotion.
"You've held the northern fields for six months,"
Ethan remarked, his tone calm but probing. "But Veyra's pushing harder every day. How long until your men break?"
Dravik's jaw tightened, a storm brewing behind his eyes.
This was a man unaccustomed to being challenged, especially not by some outsider who smelled of expensive cologne rather than gunpowder.
