By late afternoon, they'd found tracks, deep boot prints in the mud, snapped branches where someone had passed with haste, drag marks from the stolen packs. The bandits had moved west, off the trail and deeper into a gnarled section of woods tangled with vines and moss-draped trees.
Leo knelt, examining a footprint. "Six, maybe seven. They're not covering their tracks."
"Confident bastards," El muttered. "Good. Let their arrogance be their undoing."
Norman, nervous but trying to keep pace, whispered, "What exactly is the plan when we find them? Because they're armed. We're not."
"We'll take care of it," Matthew said simply.
"Right. Very specific. Great strategy."
Leo stared ahead, remembering the snake-ringed man. His eyes, how calculating they were. Cold. He wasn't just a thief, he was someone who enjoyed watching them fall.
"He's clever," Leo said. "But people like him always underestimate what they can't understand."
El nodded. "Let's make that our advantage."
