You came to with a sharp pain in your side and a shadow leaning over you.

“Don’t move,” a woman said—calm, controlled, British. Her hands pressed cloth to your wound, firm but gentle.

“Lara,” she added, glancing at you. “You’re lucky I found you.”

You managed a pained smile. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

She stayed with you as the jungle darkened, tending your injury, keeping you talking, awake. Her touch was steady, her eyes sharper than her words—but every time you caught her looking at you, something unspoken passed between you.

By morning, she was different—quieter, distracted.

“You okay?” you asked.

She hesitated. “Yeah. Just… wasn’t expecting you.”

That made two of you.