The forest was already swallowed by darkness when they reached the rebels' stronghold.
Not dark like a city blackout or drawn heavy curtains.
This was a different kind of darkness—the kind that erased streets, names, and the idea that anyone would come looking.
The trees arched high above them like the ribs of a ruined cathedral, their branches locking together so tight that even the moon had to fight for scraps of light.
Insects shrieked in the dark like faulty alarms. Something slithered through underbrush. Something else snapped a twig.
Shay's grip on Lara's hand turned desperate. Her small fingers trembled, but she refused to let go. The jungle felt alive—and not in a magical, fairy-tale way. It felt aware and was watching them.
She imagined yellow eyes opening behind every fern, vines coiling around her ankles if she slowed down, the earth itself swallowing her whole.
This wasn't a place for bedtime stories.
This wasn't a place for children.
