The war tent was quiet, the air heavy with tension.
Clara's words lingered like smoke:"They're waiting for you. Every step. Every angle. You've been manipulated."
Amelia stood beside her, face pale but eyes steady.
"We must revise. Now."
Colonel Rourke hunched over the map, forehead furrowed deep."If we go in as we've been briefed," he muttered,"we'll walk into a massacre."
Claude paced the edge of the tent, boots scuffing the dirt, his jaw set like stone."We require a new plan," he said."One they will not expect."
Amelia stepped forward, gaze sweeping the ravine lines, the supply routes, the chokeholds."What if we pretend to retreat?" she said slowly."Make them think we've abandoned the attack. Entice them out."
Rourke looked up, rubbing his jaw."A false retreat might tempt them into the open. Exposed. Hungry for a kill."
Clara leaned in."We can establish ambush points. Use the terrain. Tight gullies, blind corners. We'll know the ground better than they do."
Claude stopped pacing.He stared at the map, then at the women.His eyes were fierce — but focused.
"It's dangerous," he said. "But it might be our best option."
Amelia met his gaze.
"We need to adapt."Her voice was quiet, but it hit like steel."It's the only way to live."