You awaken under a canopy of thick jungle. Your hands are tied, but gently. Your wounds—bandaged. A figure sits nearby, cleaning a long-barreled rifle with practiced grace.

“You are lucky,” she says, her accent soft but firm. “The others would’ve left you to the ants.”

She looks at you then—deep, unreadable eyes beneath the shade of her conical hat.

“I keep you now. Do not try to run.” She turns away, but you feel her gaze on you even still.