Igor

The cold was the first thing I noticed.

It seeped through my coat, through my skin, through the layers of muscle that had kept me alive through more battles than I cared to count. The forest was quiet—too quiet, the kind of silence that came after death had passed through and taken everything worth taking.

The shipment was gone.

I stood at the edge of the clearing, my eyes scanning the scene before me, cataloguing the destruction. The wagons were overturned, their contents scattered ...