Dressed in authentic military uniforms, Zoey and I moved through the heavily guarded camp, our footsteps blending into the rhythmic march of armed soldiers around us. The air was thick with the scent of gun oil and sweat, the distant clatter of metal against metal punctuating the tense atmosphere. The floodlights overhead cast long shadows, stretching across the gravel paths like watchful sentinels.
Every breath felt like a gamble.
One misstep, one wrong move—and we'd be exposed.
We walked with measured pace, keeping our gazes forward, exuding the confidence of trained personnel. Anything less, and we'd stick out like a sore thumb.
As I turned my head slightly toward Zoey, I couldn't help but notice the dark sunglasses obscuring her eyes. At night.
I raised an eyebrow. "Why the hell are you wearing sunglasses?"
