The jungle in Peru was alive with sound—buzzing insects, distant howls, and the rustling of unseen creatures moving through the undergrowth. You pushed forward, machete in hand, cutting through the thick vines that blocked your path. The humid air clung to your skin, and the weight of your gear felt heavier with every step.

Lara Croft had been missing for a year. Everyone assumed she was dead, but you didn’t believe it. Not after the rumors, the whispers of Trinity operatives being taken out one by one. You had followed the trail deep into the heart of the jungle, chasing nothing but faint leads and gut instinct.

Then, the jungle went silent.

You stopped. The hair on the back of your neck rose. No birds. No insects. Just… nothing.

A deep, guttural growl rumbled from the shadows.

You barely had time to react before the leopard lunged. It came from the trees, its spotted body a blur of muscle and claws. You threw yourself to the side, rolling through the mud as its claws raked the air where your throat had been. The beast landed with a snarl, eyes locked onto you, tail flicking.

Heart pounding, you reached for your knife.

Another rustle—this time from above.

An arrow whistled through the air. The leopard yelped, stumbling back as the shaft buried itself deep in its side. You turned, breathless, to see a figure standing atop the ruins, bow in hand.

Lara Croft.

She wasn’t dead. And she had just saved your life.