Silas woke Alistair before the sun.
"Twelve soldiers, no banners, and Valve is at the center."
Alistair sat up instantly. The pain in his ribs had faded to a persistent ache he'd stopped noticing three days ago, and the more immediate problem was the name Silas had just spoken.
"Valve," Alistair repeated, his voice flat.
"His Dark Interval threaded through the perimeter before they even finished forming up. I didn't catch it until they were nearly on us." Silas kept his voice quieter than usual. "Twelve soldiers, precision formation, coming from the northwest. They'll reach the outer edge within the hour."
Alistair looked toward Due, who was already awake. Due wore the expression he always wore when his Characteristic was telling him something he didn't particularly want to put into words yet.
"It's a capture operation, not an assault," said Due. "The formation is wrong for assault. Too small, and too precise. They're coming for us specifically."
"All four of us?"
