“You are horrible.” Her mouth flattened as she scrubbed a hand over her face.
“And I still don’t know your name.” His other hand dropped. “But I think this is what you’re looking for…”
Eyes narrowing, she tracked the motion as his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his pants. “That is not—”
He withdrew a crumpled piece of vellum, dirt-smeared and folded in quarters.
“Oh?” He held it out between two fingers. “You weren’t keeping me around because you need help getting out of this wretched jungle?”
She snatched it from his hand. “Obviously.”
“You’ll need me to provide orientation.”
“Oh?” She unfolded the vellum, frowning down at the scrawl. A few uneven lines crisscrossed the page, thin and uncertain, ending in what might have been flames drawn in the far right corner. But there were no labels, nor scale.
She frowned. It was barely a map.
“You’re not from around here. That much is clear.” Kazuma tried to push himself up, one arm bracing against the tree, but his body didn’t cooperate. Muscles gave out beneath him, and he slid back down, panting.
Aimee’s gaze lifted. There was nothing but trees in every direction, except for the serpent’s path behind them, already half reclaimed by undergrowth.
“I told you,” the man wheezed.
“Shut up.” She turned to the nearest tree, sized it in a glance, and launched upward.
Her fingers found the smallest holds, while her feet wedged where bark cracked or branches split, strength unfurling through her muscles and bones as she climbed.
At a mid-level branch, she paused to look down.
Kazuma looked on, something between surprise and calculation sharpening his features. His hand pressed into his ribs again, but he didn’t look away.
Ha.Her mouth crooked at one corner. Then she pushed higher.
Through the canopy, jungle stretched in dense waves between high peaks dusted in snow. There was no smoke. No roads. No sign of habitation at all.
“Damn it,” Aimee muttered. She still needed him.
Scaling back down the tree, her boots hit the ground in a low thump.
“Back so soon?” His head wobbled on his neck, words slurred.
“Which direction?” Aimee looked down at him.
His eyes blinked, unfocused. Open. Closed. Open.
Shit. He’s going to pass out again.
“Tell me.” Torture wasn’t usually her method of extracting information, but for him…
“Swear you’ll get me to the village.” His throat bobbed. “Alive. In one piece.”
“What village?” She dropped into a crouch, closer now, watching as he struggled with every inhale.
“The Flames.” His eyes found hers. “On the map.” He exhaled. “They’ll have healers there. The snake bitch must’ve laced her bite with venom. I’m not recovering like I should.”
Aimee watched him for a beat, weighing the words. A village, hidden deep in mountainous jungle this thick—maybe his target all along?
She folded the crumpled scrap of vellum between her fingers, sliding it into her pocket without looking at it again. Useless.
