The instant the scraping stopped, Chen Wuya's hand was already resting on the short blade at his waist. He did not move or make a sound. He merely lowered his center of gravity, drawing his right foot back half a step until it found firm purchase on a protruding rock.
At nearly the same moment, Bai Zhi sidestepped, her flexible sword lifting slightly, its tip aimed deep into the cave entrance. Her eyes turned cold, and her breathing became so faint it was like mist scattered by the wind.
The rest of the team reacted at once. Some swiftly crouched, others drew their weapons. Their movements were urgent but orderly. The old soldier gripped his long saber in one hand and quietly pulled out a firestarter with the other, but did not light it—he knew that light would expose their position.
Chen Wuya raised his left hand, pressed three fingers together, and lightly drew a line through the air. This was the signal they had agreed upon: three on the left flank, three guard the right, two cover the rear, form a ring formation.
Bai Zhi nodded and immediately led her people closer to the rock wall on the left. The old soldier, meanwhile, led two soldiers back to the outer side of the entrance, using a pile of rocks as cover. The group quickly drew together, their backs against the cliff wall as they formed a semicircle. Every pair of eyes was fixed on that deep, shadowy fissure.
The cave was deathly silent. Even the wind no longer moved.
Chen Wuya narrowed his eyes. A faint glow from the firestarter lit his palm. He did not raise it, only swept its light close across the ground. Where the drag marks vanished, he saw an exceedingly fine layer of powder,