In the flickering orange light of her small, controlled fire, Zhou Yaya sat deep within the cavernous, burnt-out hollow of the ancient banyan tree, her violent, body-shaking shivering finally coming to a complete halt.
She stared down at her trembling, pale palm where three heavy, rounded palm seeds rested neatly side by side. They were the exact seeds that had bounced off the thick upper foliage moments ago during the height of the storm, guiding her straight through the pitch-black maze of the ravine to the concealed sponsor supply crate.
She gently traced her thumb over the smooth, hard shell of the third seed, feeling the damp coolth of the jungle air fading away beneath the rising ambient heat of her shelter. In the blind chaos of a tropical thunderstorm, no natural gust of wind could possibly drop three identical seeds in such a precise, straight line toward a hidden survival drop. It defied every law of probability.
