The last one circles wider instead of pressing in, its movement slower, more deliberate as it watches me, assessing instead of reacting. I lower my center of gravity slightly, tracking it without advancing, letting the silence stretch as the wind fills the space between us.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “You’re the one I’d worry about if I had time to worry.”
It pauses just outside engagement range, its posture shifting slightly as it evaluates, and for a moment we hold that position, neither committing, both waiting. I don’t move forward, and I don’t give it anything to work with, and after a few seconds, it turns and disappears into the heat haze beyond the ridge.
“Smart,” I murmur, scanning the area again to confirm it’s gone.
The silence that follows feels heavier, thicker, but I don’t linger in it, because the ground still has more to tell me. I moveforward again, letting my focus drop back to the trail, and the signs grow clearer as I approach the next section.
The sand is churned deeper here, the pattern chaotic, and I crouch near the disturbed area, reading the marks as they spread outward in uneven arcs.
“She fought here,” I murmur, tracing the movement with my eyes.
The impressions show sudden shifts, resistance, impact, and then movement again, the line continuing forward instead of ending.
“She didn’t go down,” I add, rising as I follow the direction it leads.
The terrain tightens further as I move higher, rock formations closing in to create narrow channels that funnel movement and restrict visibility. The air grows hotter in these enclosed spaces, the wind losing its ability to disperse heat as effectively, and the environment begins to feel contained in a way that doesn’t favor survival.
“This is bad ground,” I mutter, scanning ahead as the path opens into something different.
The rock dips inward into a shallow basin before rising again, forming a contained space where the air moves differently and scent lingers instead of dispersing. The sand within shows overlapping patterns, multiple tracks layered over each other in ways that indicate repeated movement.
“Yeah,” I say, narrowing my eyes as I take in the full picture. “That’s a nest, and it’s active.”
The trail leads straight into it without deviation, no attempt to circle around or avoid it, and that tells me everything I need to know about her situation when she passed through.
“She didn’t have a choice,” I murmur, tightening my grip on the weapon as I step closer.
The realization settles in, heavy and undeniable, as I assess the terrain, the entry angles, and the lack of clean exit points once I move in. The basin offers no safe distance, no clear vantage point that doesn’t also expose me, and the overlapping tracks suggest I won’t be dealing with just one or two.
“You’re in there,” I say quietly, my voice lower now as I focus forward.
Alive.
Injured.
Surrounded.
I exhale slowly, rolling my shoulders as I settle into position, letting the tension shift into something controlled and deliberate instead of reactive.
“This is where it gets ugly,” I mutter as I step into the edge of the basin, committing fully to the direction I’ve already chosen.
Because there isn’t a version of this where I turn back again, and there isn’t a version where I leave her in a place like this if I can still reach her.
CHAPTER 25
JOLIE
The rock beneath me holds heat like it’s alive, radiating upward through my legs and into my core until it feels like my body is cooking from both sides, and the air in the basin doesn’t move so much as churn. The smell hits hardest when I breathe too deep, thick with copper and decay, something rotting beneath the surface that clings to the back of my throat and refuses to leave. Sweat runs into my eyes, stinging, cutting lines through the dust ground into my skin, and I blink hard as I track movement below.
They don’t rush anymore.
That’s what makes it worse.
The creatures circle in widening arcs that slowly tighten again, their bodies low and controlled, blending into the sand until they shift just enough to give themselves away. One pauses near the edge of a shadow cast by the rock, its body still, almost invisible, while another drifts farther out, widening the angle like it’s testing how far it can stretch the perimeter before I react.
“Yeah,” I murmur, shifting my grip on the sidearm as my fingers tremble against the frame. “Take your time and map it out, because I’m not coming down there to help you.”
