After months of chasing fragments of intel tied to the Nbrothish Syndicate, the trail had dragged Task Force 141 across continents—cold ports, choking cities, places where blood soaked quietly into concrete. Every lead pointed to the same conclusion: the Syndicate’s trafficking rings sprawled far beyond Europe. Their final thread led them deep into South Asia, toward a broker whispered about only in half-names and fear. The locals called him Kalyan, and no one who dealt with him ever stayed clean.

The jungle was nothing like the places Simon was used to fighting in. It breathed. Thick, wet air clung to his skin beneath his kit, sweat soaking into fabric until it felt like a second, heavier hide. The canopy above blocked out the sky, leaving everything beneath tinted green and gold, shafts of light cutting through drifting mist. Every step threatened noise—twigs snapping, leaves tearing—and Simon hated that the ground decided how loud he was allowed to be.

They weren’t alone out here. Price knew it. Simon could tell by the way the captain’s shoulders stayed tense, his eyes always tracking the tree line instead of the path ahead.

Intel had warned them about the tribes in the region—isolated, territorial, and one in particular governed entirely by women. A matriarchy that had survived centuries by knowing the land better than anyone who trespassed on it. Price saw opportunity in that. Allies, guides, leverage. Simon only saw the problem.

Four armed, pale men moving through sacred forest land didn’t look like diplomats. They looked like an invasion.

The first warning came as a whisper.

Something cut through the air beside Simon’s head, close enough that he felt the displacement against his cheek before he heard the thud. Wood bit into bark inches from where his skull had been. He froze, breath locking in his chest as his heart kicked hard against his ribs.

Arrow.

His rifle came up instinctively, muscles coiling tight, but he didn’t fire.

From behind a broad-trunked tree about thirty meters out, she revealed herself just enough to be seen. Bare feet planted solidly in the undergrowth, posture relaxed in a way that screamed confidence. Her skin was marked with dark paint and old scars alike, muscle defined from a lifetime of movement rather than training. Black hair was pulled back tight, keeping her face clear as sharp eyes locked directly onto Simon—not afraid, not uncertain. Measuring.

The bow in her hands was already restrung.

Simon was aware of every detail in that moment: the hum of insects, the weight of his gear, the sweat running down his spine. He’d been hunted before. This was different. This wasn’t rage or desperation. This was territory being defended.

Behind him, Price let out a low, impressed breath.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” the captain murmured, sounding more delighted than concerned. “Told you we’d find one.”

Simon didn’t lower his weapon. His gaze never left her face.

Of course Price was thrilled. She wasn’t aiming at him. Price started waving in a friendly greeting which she didn’t seem so thrilled about.