The jungle wasn't quiet anymore.
It pulsed. With heat. With tension. With the rising sound of my own breath scraping through my throat as I stood there—stone in hand, blood running down my palm, sweat matting my hair to my forehead. Somewhere behind me, Camille coughed wetly. Somewhere to the right, Alexis groaned and shifted.
But in front of me?
Stillness.
The scout.
He walked with purpose. Not slow to intimidate, not fast to catch me. Just… precise. Every step was calibrated, like he knew the exact moment he'd be in range to kill me and was enjoying the countdown. The last few seconds before a job well done.
"Let's talk," he said again. "One last time."
I didn't lower the stone. He didn't reach for a weapon.
Not yet.
