Chapter 368

After the rainy season, the weather at the border finally cleared. The security perimeter around the camp had loosened slightly, and occasionally, villagers would bring homegrown fruits as gifts, though the soldiers always politely declined.

"Dr. White, are all the bandages dry?" a nurse called from below.

Luna White stood on her tiptoes, hanging the last piece of gauze on the clothesline. The sun beat down on the rocky outcrop, warming her back. Six months here had acclimated her to the relentless heat.

The vantage point offered a clear view of the mountain path. Since her last trip to the highlands to treat the wounded, she hadn't seen Andrew Smith. The letters she sent via supply runners were often delayed by bad weather.

"Hmm?" Luna narrowed her eyes.

Two men in military uniforms were making their way up the trail. The older one, in his thirties, wore an officer's cap with a holstered pistol at his waist. The younger carried a semi-automatic rifle. Both moved briskly but carried no supplies—unusual for anyone heading uphill.

Stranger still, they glanced around furtively, offering only curt nods to passing comrades. The younger man actively avoided eye contact.

Luna's pulse quickened. She took two silent steps back, hiding behind a boulder to observe.

At the checkpoint, the older man flashed his credentials. As the guard leaned in to inspect them, he whispered something. After a moment's hesitation, the guard waved them through.

"Something's wrong..." Luna muttered. She turned to run toward the medical tent—she had to report this immediately.

But after only a few steps, she froze.

The two men weren't heading toward the highlands at all.