Somewhere in the Dungeon Woods

They stumbled upon it almost by accident—a small clearing nestled within the twisted dungeon forest. A fresh-looking creek flowed lazily through it, gurgling over smooth stones as though it hadn't just witnessed a string of vicious Kobold murders.

A large boulder sat near the centre of the clearing, worn and ancient, with moss creeping up one side. It stood tall enough to use as cover, wide enough for two to hunker behind comfortably. Bell was the first to eye it with tactical interest.

"That rock would give us good cover if something tried to ambush us," she noted, glancing around the tree line.

Zane nodded and gave a long exhale. "Yeah. Works for me. Anyone vote no?"

There were no objections—just tired nods and grunts.

Everyone was fraying at the edges. Since their first encounter with the Kobolds, they'd been on constant alert—tense muscles, darting eyes, weapons never far from hand. The forest around them might've been silent, but the group's nerves were a thunderstorm ready to break.

Bell kept trying to keep things organised, to make sure everyone was focused, but she could feel the strain in their silences.

So when Zane dropped his gear by the boulder and let out a long breath, the rest followed without argument. Kai sat down with a thump, Lily dropped beside him, and Tarni leaned against a tree, already peeling a strip of jerky from his pack. Bell remained standing, still scanning the trees like something might leap from the shadows. She only sat when she was sure everyone else had started to settle.

After a few minutes of quiet chewing, Bell broke the silence.

"How long do you think we've been in here?"

Kai tilted his head, considering. "Three... maybe four hours?"

"Feels like longer," Zane muttered, running a hand through his hair. "This forest messes with your head. Like it stretches time."

Tarni let out a soft laugh. "Nah, mate. That's just what happens when everything around you wants to stab your kidneys."

That got a few smiles, though they were tired ones.

"At least we're not short on food," Lily said, reaching into her own bag. "Still got enough to last a couple of days easy."

"True," Kai added. "And this creek looks clean. Refill our water, take fifteen, then move on?"

"Yeah," Bell agreed. "Let's make the most of it."

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

The mood started to shift, just slightly. Bell took a seat on the boulder, her eyes never fully leaving the tree line. Tarni produced a small, folded cloth and began cleaning his blade with practiced ease. Zane filled a flask from the creek and handed it to Lily without a word. She nodded in thanks.

They ate quietly, chewing slowly, savoring more out of caution than hunger. The forest hummed around them, but nothing stirred from the underbrush. Just the soft sound of the water and the occasional rustle of wind in the leaves.

Then Tarni, of course, broke the silence.

"Alright, team," he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "We've had food, water, and a sit. Let's get back to work before I start thinking this place isn't so bad."

Bell raised an eyebrow. "You want to live in a murder-forest full of knife-wielding dog-lizards?"

"Better than a flat in Sydney."

That got a few snorts. Even Zane cracked a grin.

Kai stretched and stood up. "Let's get moving before we start roasting marshmallows."

Bell clapped her hands together once. "Tarni, scout ahead. Zane, keep your crossbow ready. Everyone else—stay sharp."

Weapons were drawn. Packs were slung. The short break had done what it needed: cleared their heads, re-centred their purpose, and reminded them that they were still very much alive—and still in enemy territory.

As they pushed past the clearing and back into the shadowed trees, the boulder and creek faded behind them. But the calm lingered a little longer, carried with them like an ember in the dark.

Captain Ainsley Robinson was having a bad day.

Only two days into her hard-earned promotion—one she had spent the last twenty-three years clawing toward—she found herself staring at a report she wished she'd never seen. The paper in front of her, stamped with urgency and peppered with red underlines, came courtesy of Sergeant Barry Smith.

Apparently, the sergeant believed he had single-handedly uncovered a massive drug and organized crime operation somewhere out west. The name at the centre of his report: Mr. Rider.

Smith wasn't asking for a subtle probe. He wanted the full weight of the State's Anti-Drug Squad mobilized. A tactical raid. Immediate action.

Ainsley leaned back in her chair, pinched the bridge of her nose, and sighed.

If Smith was right and she dismissed it, she'd be the one who paid the price when it all hit the fan. The headlines wouldn't read Sergeant Uncovers Drug Empire, they'd scream New Captain Covers Up Criminal Empire. But if she gave him the green light, and he was wrong—if this Rider was some poor farmer with a cranky attitude and an old ute—then she'd be the one hung out to dry.

Again.

No win. No peace. Welcome to leadership.

In the end, she denied the request. Pending further evidence.

She stamped the decision, closed the file, and slid it into her out-tray, praying it wouldn't come back to haunt her.

Sergeant Barry Smith stared at the denial with clenched teeth and a pulsing vein in his temple.

He knew he was right. The whole town reeked of corruption, he had strange satellite images, and now the property out west that no one seemed to be monitoring. The signs were there. He could feel it. But no one believed him. Not even the new Captain, with her squeaky-clean boots and polished brass.

Well, if she wouldn't authorise the op, he'd just have to prove it the old-fashioned way.

Quietly.

Illegally.

He'd make a covert trip out to the property himself. Take a long-range camera, document everything. If there were armed men, heavy machinery, or signs of drug labs—he'd have the evidence in hand. Hard proof.

The only question now was who to take with him.

He couldn't go alone. If something went sideways, he'd need backup. Someone competent. Discreet. And preferably someone with a grudge against higher-ups.

He opened his contacts and began scrolling. A look of determination slowly spread across his face.

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