Traitors
The air in the fort was thick with tension, a palpable unease that settled in the pit of my stomach. The demon's death had left us shaken, our only lead dissolved into nothing but a sickening pool of dark ichor.
The hunters were busy, their movements mechanical as they cleaned up the remains and tended to the wounded. Nathaniel had already begun drafting a report to Leora, his face set in a grim, determined mask. I tried to focus on the task at hand, but a nagging sense of unease pulled at my thoughts, distracting me.
After the demon's death, the fort had become eerily silent, the only sounds being the crackling of the fire and the distant howl of the wind through the crumbling walls. The hunters moved with purpose, their faces grim as they tended to their own, the weight of our failed interrogation hanging heavily in the air.