Behind them, Emma and Lucy emerged next, followed by Stella and Sophie. Then one by one, the rest appeared, Zoey, Susan, Natalie, Scarlett, Serena, Amelia. Each came armed in their own way, knives, bows, crude spears, walking sticks. No one spoke of fear. But Jude could see it in their eyes. Not the kind of fear born from monsters or blood. This fear was older. The kind that grew from not knowing whether you were still yourself.
Jude raised his hand to signal them, and together they crossed the boundary of their camp, heading toward the arch.
The jungle swallowed them quickly. The sunlight dimmed. The path narrowed. Trees leaned in from both sides, thick roots twisted over the ground like ancient veins. The silence here was deeper, broken only by the occasional rustle or the far-off cry of some unknown bird. Jude led them carefully, eyes scanning for movement, for the flicker of blue smoke, for anything that would break the illusion of stillness.
