Morning came gray and bitter.
A low fog rolled off the St. Lawrence and clung to the outer defenses of Montreal, settling into the trenches, the broken earthworks, the abandoned guns that now sat silent between the two armies. What had once been open ground was now a scar of churned snow and frozen mud, littered with shattered timber and discarded packs. American pickets moved cautiously along the captured ridge, stepping over the remains of the previous night's failed British advance.
They had not tried again before dawn.
Isaiah had expected as much.
He stood within the newly taken outer trench, studying the interior defensive line through his glass. The British had pulled back tightly—no more patrols, no visible skirmishers beyond the walls. Their artillery had been repositioned behind stonework and reinforced barricades, angled downward toward the approaches that Isaiah's brigade now held.
"They're compressing," Baird said beside him.
"They're preparing for a siege," Hale added.
Isaiah lowered the glass.
"No," he replied. "They're trying to buy time."
Howard and Frasier joined him shortly after sunrise, their staffs trailing behind like shadows.
"We should consolidate and wait for the rest of the divisions to come up," Frasier began, already gesturing toward the map being unrolled across a powder crate. "If we rush the inner defenses now and fail, we'll bleed ourselves out before winter even sets in fully."
Howard nodded. "We have them contained. Starve them out."
Isaiah said nothing at first. He studied the walls again—the angles of the embrasures, the placement of their interior batteries, the narrow approach between the riverbank and the western rise. Waiting would give the British exactly what they needed: time to reorganize, reinforce, and dig in deeper behind stone that American field guns would struggle to crack.
And time meant supply.
Supply meant survival.
"They're not prepared for a prolonged siege," Isaiah said finally. "Their fallback was rushed. You can see it in the placement of the guns—no interlocking arcs along the southern approach."
Frasier frowned. "We're not storming fortified walls on assumption."
Isaiah didn't argue.
Because he wasn't planning to storm anything.
By midday, American artillery had been dragged forward into the abandoned British works. The guns now faced directly toward the inner line—close enough to force defenders off exposed positions but still outside effective musket range from the walls.
Isaiah gave no indication of urgency.
He rotated companies along the ridge, adjusted supply routes from the rear, and ordered additional entrenchments dug along the river approach. To Howard and Frasier, it looked like preparation for the siege they wanted.
In reality, it was staging.
By late afternoon, the first American bombardment began—not against the walls, but against the visible interior batteries. Shot hammered into gun positions and supply wagons behind the stone line, forcing British crews to abandon exposed placements. Smoke rose in thin columns across the defensive ring.
Return fire came quickly—but it was scattered.
Without full visibility through the fog, British gunners struggled to find consistent range. Their shots fell short or wide, slamming into empty ground or shattered trenches the Americans had already vacated.
Isaiah watched carefully.
They were reacting.
Not coordinating.
The opening came just before dusk.
A section of the inner line along the western approach went silent—no gunfire, no visible movement behind the parapet. The earlier bombardment had forced crews to reposition deeper into the city, leaving a gap that wasn't immediately reinforced.
Isaiah turned to Baird.
"Signal the third and fifth companies. Move through the western rise."
Baird blinked once. "Now?"
"Quietly."
No drums. No shouted orders. Just movement.
Two companies slipped from the trench line and disappeared into the shallow depression along the western slope—terrain dismissed earlier as too exposed for meaningful advance. But under fog and failing light, with British guns focused on the ridge artillery, the approach went unnoticed.
By the time the defenders realized what was happening, American infantry had reached the base of the inner works.
"Ladders forward," Isaiah ordered.
Muskets cracked from above—but too few. Too late.
The first Americans climbed under covering fire from the ridge battery, which shifted aim to suppress nearby embrasures. Shots slammed into the stone lip of the parapet as men hauled themselves over the top.
Close fighting followed—brief, violent, contained.
Within minutes, a section of the western defensive ring belonged to Isaiah's brigade.
Howard arrived at a gallop, disbelief written across his face as American colors were raised behind the inner line.
"You breached it?" he demanded.
Isaiah nodded once.
Frasier rode up moments later, eyes darting between the captured position and the British forces scrambling to respond from within the city.
"They're pulling back again," he said quietly.
Because they had to.
Holding the outer ring had been about space. Holding the inner line was about survival. With American infantry now inside their secondary defenses—and artillery close enough to be brought forward through the breach—the British no longer had the luxury of depth.
They withdrew toward the city proper as night fell, abandoning the final defensive works outside Montreal's walls.
By midnight, American forces occupied the entirety of the inner ring.
Supply wagons rolled forward through the breach, engineers widening the approach for artillery to follow at first light. Fires burned low along the captured parapets as exhausted soldiers reset positions and prepared for whatever came next.
Isaiah stood atop the western wall, looking down toward the darkened streets beyond.
Montreal was no longer a distant objective.
It was contained.
Behind him, Howard and Frasier spoke in hushed tones with their staffs—already discussing dispatches, reinforcements, the formal language that would describe what had happened here.
Isaiah didn't join them.
He watched the city instead.
The siege wasn't over.
But the outcome had already shifted.