Chapter 282

He was a predator in his element, his senses sharp, his focus unrelenting. The wind ruffled his hair, carrying with it the scent of blood and gunpowder—the unmistakable aroma of the carnage he had left behind. His eyes were cold, calculating, the eyes of a man who had lost all sense of humanity.

He turned on his torch and circled the light around the area, the harsh beam cutting through the darkness like a knife. The light swept across the hillside, illuminating the gnarled roots and loose stones that littered the slope. He was searching for Roshanay, his eyes scanning the terrain below with predatory focus. Every shadow, every movement, every sound was analyzed and catalogued.

A rope and a gun were in his free hand, the weapons of a man who had come to deliver death. The rope was thick and coarse, meant for binding or strangling. The gun was still warm from the bullets it had discharged, the metal slick with the blood of its victims. Behind him, his small group of armed