The moon cast a pale light through the cracks in the shutters of Kyle's quarters, bathing the sparse room in a cold glow.
He lay on his cot, Queen perched silently near the window, its sharp eyes reflecting the moonlight. The silence was comforting, but something within Kyle stirred.
His eyes snapped open.
He didn't know what had roused him—no sound, no visible threat.
Just instinct, the same gut feeling that had saved him on the battlefield more times than he could count. He quietly slid off the bed and strapped his short blade at his hip.
"Stay."
He murmured to Queen.
The hawk tilted its head but remained obediently still as Kyle stepped out.
The camp was quiet, save for the occasional murmur of patrolling soldiers and the distant clink of armor.
His feet moved before his mind made the decision, leading him through the winding paths of the camp like a bloodhound on scent.
