The jungle was chaos.

Flames crackled in the distance, leaves fluttered from overhead as an explosion rattled the ground. Gusion darted between shadows, knives glowing faint blue, breath quick and sharp.

“This was not how the plan was supposed to go,” he muttered, sliding behind a crumbling stone wall near a broken turret.

“Maybe next time, don’t rush three enemies alone,” came a calm voice beside him.

He jerked slightly—then blinked. “Lesley?!”

She knelt beside him with her rifle propped against her knee, one eye narrowed down the scope. “You didn’t even notice me following you,” she said, cool and amused. “Assassin of the year.”

“Stalker of the year,” he shot back, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Try ‘savior.’” She fired once—clean headshot. A body dropped in the trees.

Gusion exhaled. “Alright, fine. Thank you.”

She gave a faint smirk but didn’t look at him. “You’re welcome, dagger boy.”

A sudden boom sounded nearby—too close. A grenade landed a few feet from them.

Without hesitation, Gusion grabbed Lesley by the waist and pulled her into the tighter cover of a narrow alcove behind the wall. The grenade exploded, debris flying past as they huddled shoulder-to-shoulder in the tiny space.

Neither moved.

Her breath was steady, eyes glinting even in the dark. He, on the other hand, suddenly remembered how to forget how to breathe.

“Close quarters,” he muttered.

Lesley didn’t flinch. “Afraid of a little proximity?”

“I’m not usually this close unless I’m stabbing someone.”

She tilted her head slightly, amused. “Is that what you want to do?”

“…No comment.”