The jungle fought back.
Not with roars, not with beasts—but with silence. That unnatural hush between trees where every leaf seemed to watch and every shadow hinted at teeth.
We moved fast.
Anthony took point, his movements too clean for someone running on instinct. Camille flanked left, Evelyn close behind. Sienna and 3830 held rear guard, each watching our trail like it might vanish behind us. I stayed in the center, hand brushing the drone controller every ten steps.
According to the map, the evac crate was just two ridgelines south. We'd make it in twenty minutes if we kept this pace.
But nothing ever goes that clean.
We hit our first ambush in a clearing of split stone and creeper vines.
The jungle opened like a wound—sharp with sunlight, raw with heat. Broken stone jutted up through moss and tangled roots, like the bones of something ancient. Creeper vines hung down in limp threads from branches above, masking movement, warping depth perception.
