We kept silent the entire ride. The tension could've cut diamonds. Finally, the truck jerked to a stop. He jumped down like the ground owed him money. I followed, but landed a little too close—my shoulder bumped into his.
"Oops—sorry," I said, giving him a light push to steady myself.
He glared at me like I'd insulted his ancestors. No response. He just walked away.
Wow. Okay. His Highness, Lord Grumpalot. Noted.
"Alright team," Mr. Simpson called out, "we walk to the center of the forest from here. Stay with your group."
My team was dead last in the line. The tour guide hiked ahead of us with our bags balanced like a pro. I let myself fall even farther behind, eyes scanning everything. The jungle was a masterpiece—alive, breathing, untamed.
I was so caught up I didn't notice the sudden stop—and bumped right into someone again.
Guess who.
He spun around like I'd slapped him.
"This is the second time you've bumped into me. Seriously?" he said, voice laced with irritation.
"I didn't mean to, obviously," I shot back, narrowing my eyes.
He scoffed. Scoffed. The audacity.
"Psh," he muttered, turning on his heel like he was storming the runway of a toxic attitude fashion show.
Why is he like this? One second icy, the next... icier. Definitely bipolar.Okay, new name: Bipo. Until further notice.
As we hiked deeper, a flower caught my eye—a rare one, glowing pink in the sunlight.
"Can I pick one?" I asked the guide.
"Yes, ma'am," he nodded.
I pulled out my small pocket knife like a pro and cut the stem clean. I twirled it between my fingers, its scent soft and sweet.
I loved this. Picking a flower in every place we visited. Each one whispered a story.Like me, I thought. Delicate, waiting... for someone who'll see our worth and won't leave us behind.
I tucked it away in my bag and kept to the back again, admiring the forest, mind elsewhere—until I noticed something horrifying.
A spider. On Bipo's shoulder.
Poised. Pulsing. Definitely venomous.
I called out. "Hey."
He didn't even flinch.
"Hey," louder this time. Still nothing.
Okay. Fine.
I marched up and tapped his shoulder.
He whipped around. "What?!"
"Oh nothing," I snapped. "Just trying to warn you there's a poisonous spider planning your funeral on your back, but sure, stay mad. Your ego might scare it off."
I turned and walked away before he could speak. The others swarmed around him in alarm.
"Dude, don't move!"
"Someone get it—don't squish it, it's rare!"
Bipo panicked a little, and I didn't even pretend not to smirk.
Science saves lives. You're welcome, my guy.
I strutted to the front of the line, now leading the group like I was born for the spotlight.
We hiked on. The forest stretched around us like a secret. I kept collecting flowers, slipping each one between the pages of my notebook like pressed memories.
"Let's take a rest here," the guide said, motioning toward a mossy clearing.
We dropped our packs like bricks. I plopped onto a rock, letting out a breath.
"It's tiring," Amina sighed beside me, "but so worth it."
She glanced at the bundle of petals in my lap. "These are beautiful."
"They'll go into my collection," I smiled, pulling my notebook from my bag. I carefully pressed the new flower into its page, labeling it with the date and place. Another story captured.
Meanwhile, Bipo sat under a tree, stealing glances at me. Probably wondering how I knew about the spider. Or maybe wondering how I got under his skin.
Honestly?
Same.
Jungle – Mid-Afternoon
The break was over. We were deep into the forest now, far from roads, Wi-Fi, or anything remotely civilized. The air smelled like earth and rain, and everything buzzed like it was alive and watching us.
I was happily lagging behind again, tucking another flower into my book when I heard shouting up ahead.
"Where's Mike?!"
Maggy's voice cut through the trees like a machete. Everyone stopped.
"What do you mean where's Mike?" Mr. Simpson barked.
"He was just here!" Amina said, spinning around.
Oh. No.
We all started looking—frantic. Shouting his name. Scanning the trees.
Bipo ran past me, eyes narrowed. "Stay here," he muttered.
"Nope," I said, jogging after him. "If he's lost, we all look."
"I said stay."
"And I said no. You're not the boss of me, Grumps."
He shot me a glare, but I kept following.
After a minute of searching, we heard something—faint.
"Help!"
That was definitely Mike.
We found him a few meters off the trail, tangled in roots, half-sliding down a shallow ravine, clinging to a tree like his life depended on it.
Which, to be fair, it kinda did.
"I—I just wanted to check something out," he stammered.
Bipo reached down. "Hold on."
I braced myself on the edge too, grabbing Bipo's other hand for balance as he stretched down to Mike.
"Don't let go of me," he said, and for the first time, his voice wasn't sharp. It was steady. Strong. Human.
"I won't," I murmured, locking eyes with him.
We pulled Mike up together. He collapsed onto the ground, breathing like he'd just fought a bear.
Bipo sat back, covered in dirt. His arm brushed mine.
"…Thanks," he muttered without looking at me.
Was that… gratitude? From His Royal Sassiness?
"You're welcome," I said, surprised. "See? We make a good team."
He rolled his eyes, but I caught the corner of his mouth twitch.
A smile?
No way.
Back at the Trail
The whole group was relieved when we returned. Mike was fine, just shaken. Mr. Simpson gave a lecture, of course, but everyone was just happy he wasn't snake food.
We walked in silence after that.
Well, except for me humming to myself while flipping through my flower book.
As we reached the edge of a wide clearing, Bipo slowed down beside me.
"That flower you picked earlier," he said suddenly. "It's not actually a flower."
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
"It's a fungus that mimics petals. Weird, right? I read about it once."
I stared at him. "…You read about plants?"
"Some," he said, casually. "Botany's cool. Don't tell anyone."
I stared harder. "Who are you?"
He smirked, that real kind this time. "The guy you keep bumping into."
My heart did a dumb little flip.I looked away, cheeks warm.
"Still calling you Bipo, though," I said.
"Fair."
°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°
Later That Day – Resting Under a Giant Tree
The jungle was alive, but for once, it felt quiet. Calm. A warm breeze rustled the leaves overhead while sunlight poured through the canopy in patches. I sat under a massive tree, my back against the trunk, trying to find a pocket of peace.
Tony plopped down next to me, tossing a twig at my leg. "You good, bro? You've been zoning out for like ten minutes."
I let out a sigh. Heavy. Tired.
"Man, I just… I need to breathe. My life back home? Constant noise. Expectations. Pressure. Now this whole rumor mess on top of it?" I shook my head. "People trying to ruin me without even knowing the truth."
Mike looked over. "You never talk about that stuff."
"I don't have time to talk about it. I barely have time to be." I glanced around the camp. "I'm not running away. I'll go back eventually… deal with the mess. But right now? I just want silence. Rest. A break from being the guy who's supposed to have it all together."
They didn't say anything, just nodded. Tony patted my shoulder.
Then my eyes drifted.
To her.
Emmy.
The team lead. Tiny in size, not in attitude.
She was sitting across the clearing, cross-legged beside Amina, carefully pressing flowers into her journal like each one was a secret. Her lips moved as she laughed at something Amina said, her nose crinkling.
And just like that, my breath forgot how to work.
Damn.
She was beautiful when she laughed. Not in a polished, magazine-cover kind of way. In a real, messy-hair-in-the-jungle, laughing-with-your-whole-face kind of way. She was small—barely reached my shoulder—but something about her presence filled up the space around her.
"What are you staring at?" Mike asked, eyebrows raised.
"I wasn't staring," I said quickly.
"Oh, he was definitely staring," Marvin added.
"Were you watching Emmy?" Tony leaned in with a smirk.
"Her name's Emmy?" I asked too quickly.
Busted.
I cleared my throat. "No. I was looking at the… uh…"
And just then, as if the universe knew I needed a distraction, a monkey swung down from the tree branches and landed right in front of the girls.
Amina shrieked and scrambled back, tripping over her own bag. But Emmy—Tiny—stayed completely still.
"Don't shout," she said calmly. "It might get triggered."
She slowly reached into her bag and pulled out a biscuit. Holding it out, she crouched low. The monkey snatched it, chomped half, and scampered back into the trees.
"See?" she said, brushing her hands off. "They're just looking for food. They don't want trouble unless you start it."
Tony stared. "That was kinda badass."
I couldn't stop smiling. "Yeah," I murmured, half to myself. "She's full of surprises
"
Still on the Trail – Mid-Chaos, Mid-Cringe, Mid-Crush
"As you were saying?" I asked Tony, trying to shift my brain out of Emmy-mode and back into normal human interaction.
Tony squinted at me. "You okay?"
"Of course. I'm… I'm enjoying it so far."
He didn't look convinced. "You look like a man who just got dropped in a jungle-themed therapy session."
I sighed. "It's just—new. First time away from the city, you know? Gotta adjust."
"If you don't like it here, just say the word and we're out of here."
I smirked. "That easy, huh?"
"I've got escape plans and granola bars, my dude."
I chuckled softly but kept scanning the scene. My baseball cap was pulled low, sunglasses on—even out here, miles from the nearest Wi-Fi signal, I didn't want to risk anyone recognizing me. Disguise mode: barely effective but emotionally comforting.
Then—laughter.
I looked up just in time to see Emmy—Tiny—chasing some guy across the trail, arms flailing and absolutely furious in the most adorable way possible.
"Hey, that's mine!" she shouted, chasing after Zack, who was laughing like a kid who just got away with stealing cookies.
"If you want it, come and get it!" he taunted, holding her journal high above his head.
My chest tightened.
Her journal.
The one she'd been putting all the flowers in.
"If those flowers fall, you're dead!" she barked, serious now, grabbing a stick off the ground with terrifying determination.
Zack gave a dramatic yelp and finally handed it back. "Alright, alright! Here, jungle warrior. Mercy!"
Emmy snatched it and opened the pages. A breath escaped her lips. "This one's… wow." She smiled, brushing her fingers over a deep violet bloom, eyes lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. "So pretty."
I rolled my eyes before I could stop myself. "Pssh. It's just a flower."
I thought I'd whispered it.
Apparently not.
Marvin, standing beside me, slowly turned with a look like he just heard the juiciest tea of the year. "Saying something, lover boy?"
My spine stiffened. "Nope. Just… admiring the local flora."
Marvin grinned like a gremlin. "Mm-hmm. Sure. Want me to find you a flower to press into your journal?"
"Shut up."
"Oh-ho! We're hostile! That means we're blushing."
I turned away, heart racing. Emmy was still flipping through her journal, totally unaware that she was now the lead character in a romantic comedy I never signed up for.
But when she glanced my way—just for a second—I swore she smiled.
And just like that, I was toast.
We sat under the thick shade of an ancient tree, the jungle humming softly around us like nature's lullaby.
"She's pretty tough," I said, more to myself than anyone.
Tony glanced over. "Who?"
"Emmy."
Tony's brow rose. "Do you like her?"
I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "I don't know. Maybe you like her."
He grinned. "She is cute."
"It's okay to fall in love again, man," Sam added, casually leaning back on his backpack.
"I don't think so," I muttered. "Love's not exactly on the itinerary."
"But joining this project was a good call," Sam said, changing the subject.
"You're right," I admitted. "It's peaceful here."
"No loud music," Tony added.
"No crazy girls," Mike grumbled, sipping from his canteen like it was whiskey.
"No toxic smell of car exhaust or city sweat," Marvin sighed dramatically, then paused. "But I do need alcohol."
"Me too," Sam chimed in with a sad nod.
"Boys, it's just for the meantime," Tony laughed.
"How long is this whole show anyway?" Mike asked.
"I heard three to four months," Sam answered.
"Or more," I said, stretching.
Tony groaned. "That long?"
"Yup."
Silence fell over us for a moment, just the buzz of insects and the distant caws of birds. Then—
"Alright, guys," Milo, the head tour guide, called out. "We've got to reach the camp before it gets dark. Let's move!"
We got up, brushed off leaves, and kept walking.
I noticed Emmy—Tiny, in my head—had drifted to the back again, her attention glued to some unusual mushroom on a tree bark or a rare fern poking through the soil. The way she explored, she wasn't just walking—she was absorbing everything.
I slowed down and waited for her to catch up.
"Hey, Tiny," I said casually.
She blinked at me, then pointed at herself. "Me?"
"Yup. Tiny."
"Oh, so you can talk," she smirked. "But Tiny's not my name. It's Emmy."
"I like it my way," I teased. "Tiny suits you."
She narrowed her eyes playfully. "Alright, then I'll just call you Bipo."
"What?" I asked, confused.
"Nothing, Bipo," she said with a grin.
"The name is Erick."
"I prefer Bipo," she said sweetly, her dimples flashing as she turned away.
Funny girl.
And maybe a little dangerous—for a guy trying not to fall for anyone.
She bent down near a thick patch of grass, eyes lighting up like she'd just found treasure.
"Aww, how cute is this?" she said softly, plucking a delicate flower.
I leaned over to get a better look—and nearly jumped back.
On the stem, casually lounging like it owned the place, was a fat green caterpillar.
"Are you not afraid of that thing?" I asked, eyebrows raised in horror.
She glanced at it, then smiled. "Nope. It's adorable."
"Adorable?" I blinked. "It's a squishy, wriggling worm with legs."
"It's a caterpillar, not a worm. And it's not gross, it's just misunderstood."
"Misunderstood and slimy."
She rolled her eyes and, with incredible gentleness, moved the caterpillar onto a nearby leaf.
"There you go, buddy. Find yourself a nice leaf buffet." She gave it a soft little nudge like she was sending off a pet.
Then she tucked the flower delicately into her notebook.
"You're seriously keeping that?" I asked.
"Of course. The flower, not the caterpillar," she smirked. "Although I could press him into a page if you keep being mean to him."
"Ugh. Just say you're trying to scare me."
"Is it working, Bipo?"
I narrowed my eyes. "You know that's not my name."
She grinned wickedly. "Too bad. You look like a Bipo. Especially when you're scared of harmless little bugs."
"Harmless until it mutates overnight and bites someone."
She laughed, that kind of laugh that caught me off guard—light, wild, like the forest itself. She tucked the flower between two pages, completely unbothered, then looked up at me.
"You city boys need to toughen up," she said.
"And you flower girls need to stop adopting jungle insects."
We kept walking, but now we were both smiling.
"So… how long have you been working out here?" I ask, watching her effortlessly dodge a low branch like she's part of the forest.
"Almost seven years," she replies, a hint of pride in her voice.
"That long?"
"That's how much I love my job," she says, smiling. "Travel, nature, no deadlines screaming at you."
"Lucky you," I mutter. "I joined this project just to escape the city. Everything there feels so… loud."
"You came to the right place then," she says, inhaling deeply. "Fresh air, no traffic, just trees and birds. It's like the Earth's own playlist."
I smile. "Yeah… very peaceful."
Just as I say it—karma decides to strike.
Something drops from a branch above. Something long. Something slithery.
Right. Onto. My. Backpack.
I freeze.
"Wait—wait—what was that?" I whisper, eyes darting to Emmy.
She glances at my back and blinks. "Oh."
"Oh? Oh?! Why 'oh'?! What's on me?!"
She leans slightly, as calm as if she's checking for lint. "It's just a snake."
"JUST A SNAKE?!"
Our entire team halts. Arlo, one of the tour guides, hurries over. But Emmy gently raises a hand.
"Wait—don't spook it," she says coolly, walking behind me like she's inspecting a plant, not a death rope currently hitching a ride on my back.
"I'm gonna die," I whisper. "Tell my mom I love her."
"You're fine," she says soothingly. "It's not venomous. It's just a tree snake. Probably fell from a branch."
"Why is that supposed to make me feel better?!"
She doesn't answer. Instead, with the smooth confidence of someone who's done this before, she reaches up, gently nudges the snake with a stick, and lets it slither down into the grass.
"There," she says with a small grin. "See? Alive. Limbs intact. No dramatic last words needed."
I nearly collapse with relief. "That thing could've eaten me."
"It was the size of your shoelace," she teases.
I glare at her. "Well, I like my shoelaces. I prefer them not alive."
She chuckles and pats my shoulder. "You'll toughen up, city boy."
"Do you deal with snakes often?" I ask, still twitching slightly.
"All the time. I once pulled a python out of someone's tent."
I stare at her. "You're terrifying."
"And you're cute when you're panicking," she replies with a wink before walking ahead.
I blink, stunned for a second. Then Marvin walks by and slaps my back.
"Snake or not… bro, you just got saved by a flower girl."
"Let's go," Emmy says, casually as if she didn't just save me from death by jungle noodle.
We start walking again.
"You're afraid of snakes," she says softly, more like an observation than a question.
"I had a very terrifying experience once," I admit. "Long story short: zoo trip, escaped boa, and a very traumatized version of me clinging to a vending machine."
"Wow," she mutters, clearly biting back a laugh.
"I heard that."
"Didn't say anything!" she says, eyes wide with mock innocence.
I roll my eyes and shake it off, falling into step beside her. We move deeper into the jungle, and the trees start getting denser. The sounds around us shift. Less birdsong, more silence. It's cooler, too—like the sun can't quite reach through the canopy anymore.
We walk for maybe fifteen more minutes until Arlo, the tour guide, suddenly raises a hand. "Stop."
Everyone halts.
"What is it?" Emmy asks.
"There's… something," he murmurs, pushing aside a curtain of vines.
We follow—and find ourselves in front of something unexpected.
Hidden between thick tree roots and nearly swallowed by overgrowth is a crumbling stone archway, almost entirely devoured by moss and time. Faint symbols—carvings—spiral along its edge.
"Whoa," I breathe.
"What is this?" Marvin steps forward, brushing moss off one of the stones.
"No clue," Arlo mutters. "This isn't on any of the park's maps."
"It's not in the research documents either," Emmy says, crouching near the base, her fingers gently tracing one of the carvings. "This script… I've never seen anything like it."
Tony whistles low. "So… we just found ancient jungle ruins? Like, Indiana Jones-style?"
"I swear, if darts come flying out of a wall, I'm running," Mike says, already stepping back.
"This could be pre-colonial," Emmy muses, eyes glittering with curiosity. "Or even older."
"Should we report this to Mr. Simpson?" Sam asks.
"Absolutely," Emmy replies, standing up and dusting off her hands. "But first, let's document it."
She pulls out her phone and starts snapping photos. I just stare at the entrance—something about it feels... heavy. Like the air around it is thicker.
"Anyone else feel like we just unlocked the bonus level?" I mutter.
"You're not wrong," Emmy says, glancing at me. "But sometimes the bonus level is where the real game begins."
The wind picks up—soft but enough to stir the vines around the archway.
Something about this place has been forgotten… but not lost.
And we just woke it up.
We reached the campsite just before dark. The clearing was wide, with enough space for all our tents. The guides moved quickly—pitching shelters, lighting a controlled fire, and prepping basic gear.
Emmy was unusually quiet. I could tell her mind was still on the ruins.
"You good?" I asked as I handed her a bottle of water.
She took it without looking. "Something about that place felt... ancient. Sacred, even. Like we weren't supposed to find it."
"You sound like a horror movie trailer," I teased, trying to lighten the mood.
She smirked. "And you sound like the guy who dies first for making fun of the cursed temple."
"Touche."
Dinner was simple—rice, vegetables, and some grilled meat that may or may not have been from a goat. Marvin kept complaining about the lack of chili sauce, while Mike kept trying to charge his phone using a solar brick that barely worked.
By 10 p.m., everyone started turning in.
The jungle at night was another world.
Louder.
Creepier.
And somehow… alive.
Crickets sang, frogs croaked, something howled way off in the distance, and someone—probably Sam—was already snoring like a chainsaw.
I couldn't sleep.
Maybe it was the ruins.
Maybe it was Emmy's words echoing in my head.
So I sat outside the tent, just listening to the forest breathe.
Then, I saw it.
A faint glow in the distance. Through the trees. It wasn't fire. It wasn't a flashlight. It was something else—soft, bluish-white, pulsing slowly like a heartbeat.
"Emmy," I whispered, crawling over to her tent. "Hey. Emmy."
She groaned, groggy. "What? Is it a snake again?"
"No. Something's glowing out there."
She blinked, now fully awake. "Glowing?"
"I swear. Come see."
Reluctantly, she got up and followed me.
We crept through the forest, maybe 20 meters from the camp, careful not to make noise.
And there it was.
The ruins.
We had unknowingly set up camp just beyond them.
Only now... they were glowing.
Not the whole thing—just certain carvings, faintly lit with the same pulse I saw earlier. Strange markings shimmered, alive with energy.
Emmy gasped. "They're reacting to something..."
"Or someone," I said slowly.
We stepped closer. A gust of wind blew out from the archway like a sigh, and the jungle grew eerily quiet.
Then—a distant sound, like a low hum, vibrating through the ground.
Both of us froze.
Behind us, we heard twigs snap.
We turned sharply.
Nothing.
But the pulsing light grew stronger.
"I think we should go back," Emmy whispered.
"Agreed."
We backed away slowly, never turning our backs to the ruins.
Back at the campsite, everyone was still asleep—unaware.
Emmy and I looked at each other, breath held.
"What was that?" she asked.
"I don't know," I said. "But I don't think we just stumbled onto some old building."
"We woke something up," she said.
And in the distance, deep in the jungle, something... answered.
A sound—not animal, not human.
Something ancient.
Something waiting.
The next morning, the jungle woke us up early—birds calling out like alarm clocks with no snooze button. Everyone looked groggy, except for one person.
Zack.
He was already up before sunrise, standing by the edge of the trees, staring into nothing. Just… staring.
"Zack?" Maggy called out, rubbing sleep from her eyes. "You okay?"
No response.
"Maybe he's sleepwalking," Marvin joked, still half-asleep in his tent.
But it wasn't funny when Zack slowly turned to look at us, and his eyes—normally sharp and playful—seemed… distant. Like someone else was behind them.
He walked back to camp silently, passed by Emmy and me without a word. Didn't eat breakfast. Didn't laugh. Didn't complain. Just sat down and started sketching something in the dirt with a stick.
"What is that?" Amina asked, peeking over his shoulder.
A circle. With strange symbols. Similar to the ones we saw glowing on the ruins last night.
I exchanged a glance with Emmy.
Zack had never seen those carvings. We hadn't told anyone.
"Where'd you get that design?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
He looked up slowly. "I saw it in a dream," he said.
A shiver crept down my spine.
"You okay, man?" Arvin asked.
Zack nodded. "Yeah. I'm great."
Then he stood up and walked away, muttering something under his breath in a language none of us recognized.
Emmy leaned in, voice low. "You think… he went back to the ruins last night?"
"Or the ruins came to him," I said.
Emmy's eyes narrowed. "We need to keep an eye on him."
"And maybe tell Mr. Simpson."
"No," she said. "Not yet. We don't have proof. Just weird behavior. Let's wait and watch."
I nodded.
That day, during team tasks, Zack was unusually efficient. Too efficient. He moved through the jungle like he'd done it a hundred times. He found a shortcut no one else knew existed. He touched one of the trees and whispered something. The tree had carvings, hidden beneath moss. Same symbols again.
Emmy and I stayed close to each other the whole time. Something wasn't right.
That night, as the team shared stories and Marvin finally got his hands on a tiny bottle of contraband rum, Zack sat quietly, carving something into his notebook.
He looked up.
Smiled at me.
Not his usual smile.
It was cold.
Empty.
And behind him, in the firelight… I thought I saw something move in the shadows.
Something not human.
That night, after everyone had drifted off into their tents and the jungle returned to its rhythmic lullaby of chirping insects and rustling leaves, I noticed Zack's tent flap quietly open.
He slipped out, careful not to make a sound. His silhouette melted into the darkness beyond the firelight.
I nudged Emmy, whispering, "He's leaving."
She sat up immediately. "Should we wake the others?"
"No. Too risky. Let's follow him first. Quietly."
We grabbed our flashlights but didn't turn them on. The moon above peeked through the trees just enough to guide our steps.
Zack moved fast, like he knew exactly where he was going.
"Why is he going back toward the ruins?" Emmy whispered beside me, her breath just a wisp in the air.
We followed him for nearly fifteen minutes, deeper into the forest than we'd gone during the day. The vines were thicker, the air damper, and everything was unnaturally quiet.
No birds. No insects. Just the crunch of our own steps—until Zack stopped.
He stood before an enormous boulder, half-covered in moss. He touched it, whispered again in that strange language.
The boulder shifted.
I swear on everything—the ground beneath it split. A faint light glowed from inside. Emmy grabbed my arm.
"Oh my God… it's a hidden entrance," she whispered.
Zack slipped inside, disappearing behind the stone as it slowly moved back into place—sealing itself like a secret never meant to be found.
Emmy stared at me. "Did that just happen?"
I was too stunned to speak.
But then—movement. Just behind us. Leaves rustling. A branch creaking.
We turned.
Nothing.
No. Wait—someone was there. Or something.
A soft, inhuman whisper echoed through the trees.
We didn't wait.
We ran.
When we made it back to camp, out of breath and pale-faced, Emmy grabbed my hand.
"We're not just here for research," she said. "There's something ancient in these forests. Something watching."
I nodded, pulse still pounding.
And somewhere beneath the trees… Zack was inside a hidden chamber.
Alone.
Or maybe… not.