Snow drifted down over your shivering bodies as the blizzard moved closer to the small campsite Mute and you had set up.

Mute shifted slightly, keeping his silence as he peered through his scope at the mountain pass below. It had already been quite a few hours, and still, there was no sign of the target, Petre Dimitrov.

A sharp, cold wind blew across the ridge, making the biting cold even more miserable.

“Armored truck on the pass…” he said in his low voice.