Alright, first thing: picture the map as a living character. Every ridge, shadow, opening is a cue that tells the reader something about the stakes. Start with a single, eye‑catching detail—maybe a narrow ledge that looks solid but cracks under a light breeze. Show the protagonist pause, feeling the weight of that crack. That gives you an immediate hook. Then, layer in the strategy through dialogue and internal thoughts. Let the character talk out loud to a teammate or to themselves, saying things like, “We hit the ridge at sunrise, slip over that shadow, and use the canyon as cover.” Each move should feel like a chess move, a deliberate step that the audience can see in advance. Use pacing to build tension: slow down when describing a risky passage—zoom in on the wind, the echo of footsteps. Speed up when the plan starts to unfold, letting the action carry the reader forward. And don’t forget to drop subtle hints—like a forgotten torch in a cave, a loose rock that could be a trap—so the audience feels they’re in the loop. Wrap it with a visual beat that repeats: the map’s key points become a rhythm in the narrative. When the protagonist finally reaches that ridge, the tension is palpable because the audience has already mapped it mentally. The strategy feels earned, the stakes feel real, and the reader’s eyes are glued to the next move.

Got it—edges only, no detours. I’ll strip the map down to the barest lines and make every move feel like it was always going to happen. Tight tension, tight pacing, and the reader will be on the edge of their seat.