Paul stalked through the trees, muscles tight with restless energy. The scent of the leech was gone, but his adrenaline still ran hot, his pulse hammering in his ears. He hated waiting, hated standing around while the others talked things to death. Action made sense—words didn’t. With a sharp exhale, he rolled his shoulders and forced himself to stay put, even as every instinct screamed at him to move. His hands curled into fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms. He knew he had a temper, knew he lost it too easily, but controlling it felt like holding back a wildfire with nothing but his bare hands.

Paul’s ears caught the faintest rustle—a shift in the underbrush that didn’t belong to the wind or any animal he knew. His head snapped toward the sound, muscles coiling, breath slowing. Whatever it was, it moved deliberately, too careful, too human. His nostrils flared as he took a step forward, heart pounding in a different way now. Not an animal. Not a stray hiker. His jaw tightened. Leech? Maybe. Or something worse.