Night had fallen over Assab, the stars hidden behind a veil of wind-swept dust and sea mist. The coastal air was thick with anticipation, as if the land itself was holding its breath. From the upper balcony of the command tower, Khisa stared out toward the black horizon, his jaw tight, fingers curled along the railing.
Behind him, the hum of the port had dimmed. Only a few torches burned near the dockyards where slave ships had once anchored freely. Now, they were under Khisa's quiet control—checkpoints, merchants, false deals, and dangerous lies, all weaved into a fragile web.
"Couldn't sleep?" came a voice from behind.
He didn't need to turn. He knew it was Azenet.
"No," he murmured. "Not tonight."
She walked up beside him, her silhouette glowing softly in the torchlight. "I thought you'd be celebrating. The plan is finally in motion."
Khisa exhaled. "There's no celebration in sending people you love into danger."
"You trained them, didn't you?" she asked gently.
