After taking a few seconds to think it over, Maxwell had decided to advance forward and see what was happening.
If it was too bad he had confidence in at least retreating. Said advance however wasn't fast and it wasn't alone.
He had the guard who had stopped in front of Vasco ahead, making him basically the scout.
They moved slowly forward, glancing around cautiously, especially Maxwell, the rain still falling in heavy sheets that turned the already ruined path into a slick channel of black mud and broken branches.
The canopy above them was broken in places where trees had been snapped or uprooted, allowing gray light and rain to pour through in uneven curtains, while the denser sections still dripped steadily onto their shoulders and the barrels of the guard's rifle.
Maxwell kept his aviators on for the moment, the dark lenses hiding the molten red of his eyes, but his posture remained taut, head turning at every rustle that could not be explained by the weather alone.
