Page 11

KAIRON

T he jungle's breath is thick and wet, clinging to my skin like a jealous lover. Every step squelches in the mud, the canopy above filtering the sunlight into a sickly green haze. The air is alive with the hum of insects and the distant calls of creatures I can't name.

I push through the underbrush, the camp finally coming into view. The fire is a smoldering heap of ash, its smoke curling lazily into the air. Our makeshift shelter stands as we left it, the supplies neatly arranged. But something's off.

She's gone.

I scan the area, my eyes narrowing. Her gear is still here—stun-blade, ration packs, even that damn water canister she clings to like a lifeline. If she left, she didn't take anything with her. That’s not like her.

I crouch beside the fire, sifting through the ashes. Still warm. She couldn't have been gone long. But why would she leave without her gear? Unless...

"Damn it, Ava," I mutter, standing abruptly. "What the hell are you thinking?"

I grab my blade, the weight of it familiar and comforting. If she's out there, I need to find her before something else does. The jungle isn't forgiving, and she's not equipped to handle it alone.

A flicker of unease twists in my gut. The thought of her hurt—bloodied, broken—sends a jolt through me.

I scowl, trying to shake it off. It's not concern, I tell myself.

Just irritation. Irritation that she's so damn helpless. That she’d wander off into this hellhole without a weapon, without backup. Stupid. Reckless.

But the image lingers. Her lying somewhere, eyes wide with fear, calling out for help that won't come. My grip tightens on the blade. No. I won't let that happen.

Why should I fucking care?

The path out of camp is a mess. Wide-set, clumsy prints crushed into the damp earth, weaving like she didn’t know where the hell she was going—or like she didn’t care. I crouch, tracing one with my fingers. Not fresh, but not old either. No caution in her steps. No perimeter sweep. No hesitation.

That’s not how she moves.

She’s military. Even if she’s green, she’s disciplined. This? This is someone distracted. Someone being led.

"Shit," I mutter, jaw tightening.

I push deeper into the trees, following the chaos she left behind. Low branches broken at shoulder height. Moss disturbed where she stumbled or fell. Her scent clings to the foliage—sweat, fear, determination. I don’t like how sharp the fear is.

It gets darker fast. The trees thicken, hanging heavy with vines that drip moisture and sap. The ground here is soft, treacherous. One wrong step and you’re buried knee-deep in rot.

Still, her trail is easy enough to follow. She wasn’t trying to be quiet. Wasn’t trying to hide. My pace quickens, boots sinking into the muck. I’ve got a sick feeling building in my gut, heavier with every step.

The path veers left, sharp and sudden, like something yanked her in a new direction. That’s when I see it—through a curtain of ferns and lichen, the jungle gives way to stone.

A cavern mouth yawns open before me, carved into the side of a shallow hill. It’s dark inside, the kind of black that swallows light and sound whole. But that’s not what stops me cold.

There, smeared across the jagged edge of the stone, is a stark streak of blood.

It’s fresh, vivid—a dark crimson that stands out against the dull gray rock. A handprint, perhaps, pulled downward as if she had desperately tried to hold on, to resist whatever force had dragged her into the void. I know it’s hers. I can feel it in my bones, that primal recognition.

My grip on the blade tightens, knuckles white under the strain, and for the first time in a long damn while, something akin to panic claws at my chest. It’s a feeling I haven’t allowed myself to entertain in ages, a sensation that feels foreign, unsettling, like a shadow creeping in during the dead of night.

“Ava!” I bark into the oppressive darkness, my voice reverberating off the cavern walls, a hollow sound that feels more like a plea than a command.

It echoes back at me, distorted and mocking—like a fucking ghost laughing at my desperation.

Nothing answers. No rustling in the underbrush, no breath, not even an echo that sounds remotely like her, like the defiance she wore like armor.

Silence.

I pace the stone edge, boots grinding against loose pebbles and dirt, each step a reminder of the precariousness of my situation.

My eyes dart from the blood smear to the yawning black mouth below, the darkness seeming to pulse with a life of its own.

Tension coils tighter in my chest like a noose.

She could be down there, somewhere in that abyss.

Hurt. Dying. Or worse—captured, lost to the depths of the unknown.

The thought of her suffering, of her being at the mercy of whatever lurks in that shadow, sends a shiver racing down my spine. I can’t abandon her. Not now. The jungle may have its secrets, but I refuse to let it claim her as its own.

“Stupid little shit,” I growl, raking a hand through my hair. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

The cave stares back, silent and gaping.

One step forward, just one more, and I could allow myself to slip into that suffocating darkness below, lose myself in the abyss where light dared not tread.

Or I could turn around, retrace my steps, and walk away from this cursed place.

Let the jungle have her, wrap its greedy fingers around her and drag her deeper into its secrets.

She’s weak, I remind myself—sloppy and fragile, a delicate creature in a world that thrives on brutality.

More trouble than she’s worth, a liability that could sink me further into this hell.

The thought pulses through my skull—quick, clean, seductive, like a siren's call luring me into the depths of despair. Be done with her, it whispers, a temptation laced with the ease of escape.

But then—pain. An ache that isn’t physical, that doesn’t slice like a wound but rather gnaws at the core of me, something deep and primal twisting the wrong way.

My gut clenches tight, a visceral reaction, teeth grinding together as if I could crush the turmoil rising within.

A low growl builds in my throat, raw and feral, echoing the conflict raging inside me.

I’m caught in a tempest of fury and frustration, the urge to abandon her battling against the unyielding truth that I can’t just walk away. Not now. Not ever.

“What the fuck is this?” I snarl at the empty air.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. I don’t get tethered. I don’t get distracted. She’s a human. A soft, mouthy, reckless human. And yet... the idea of walking away turns my stomach like spoiled meat.

“I should just fucking leave,” I mutter, voice low and venomous. “Let the jungle eat her. Wouldn’t even take long.”

I glare down into the black pit of the cavern, my fists clenched so tight my knuckles crack. I can almost hear Renn’s voice in my head, smug and cold—‘You getting soft, boss?’

But I’m not soft. I’m pissed.

I turn, about to stalk off and be done with it, when her scream shreds through the air like a blade across flesh.

“AaaaAAAHHH!”

High. Shrill. Raw with terror.

Something in me snaps.

I spin back to the edge and leap.

No thought. No calculation.

Just fury and heat and the sound of her voice burned into my fucking bones.