Three days later.
The morning mist flowed slowly over the Tigris River like a thick gray satin, enveloping the war ruins on the west bank of Mosul in a hazy and strange tranquility.
Song Heping stood on the third-floor platform of the abandoned textile factory, holding not a weapon but a twenty-seven-page asset list.
This seemingly light piece of paper weighed much heavier than any firearm.
"Milosh's two battalions have completed their final assembly and can depart at any time."
Jiang Feng walked up to the platform, handing over another document.
