Three hours later, the mountain storm had completely cleared, leaving behind a cold, crisp night.
The thick gray fog that had covered the river banks for hours rolled back into the deep valleys, leaving the sky wide open.
Thousands of distant, tiny stars blinked down from the darkness, cold and entirely uncaring of the small, bloody dramas playing out on the dirt below.
Wei Xiang lay flat on his back against the rough gravel of the far bank. He had not moved an inch since the crushing weight of Cassian's pressure had finally vanished from the canyon. The silence around him was heavy, broken only by the continuous, angry rush of the gray river water splashing over the sharp rocks just a few feet away from his boots.
His body was completely numb. The green travel tunic he wore was entirely ruined, soaked through with freezing river water, black mud, and streaks of his own dark blood.
