I wake up feeling cold.
Not the kind of cold that you shake off, but a bone-deep, freezing grip that makes my muscles seize up and tremble like they belong to someone else. My breath comes out in misty clouds. Each one is just a proof that something’s gone wrong. Very wrong.
I sit up, blinking through the water dripping from my hair and plastered clothes. Everything is soaked. My skin sticks to the damp fabric, and I feel the river lapping gently at me. The freeze of it, though, is not gentle at all.
“Zayan?” My voice cracks as I call out.
There’s no answer—just the lazy murmur of the water and the occasional rustle from the trees.
My fingers rub at my eyes, but it does nothing to clear the fog clouding my mind. My skin’s all pruned, like I’ve been lying in this cursed river for hours.
“Vinicola?” I try again, louder this time. Still nothing. Just silence pressing in on me from all sides.
A strange tingling starts in my fingertips, and panic follows, sharp and immediate, clawing at the edges of my thoughts. I try to move my legs, but they feel like dead weight, cold and useless. My knees refuse to bend properly, and when I try to stand, mymuscles barely respond. I can’t get out of the water. Can’t even make them work.
My heart starts pounding like a drum, each beat shaking the breath out of me. I force myself to breathe. Deep, slow breaths. In, out. Steady. Don’t lose it now.
“Think, Gypsy,” I whisper harshly, my voice almost drowned by the rushing in my ears. “Just think.”
I scan the jungle around me. Dark, twisted trees flank both sides of the river, their branches hanging low. The only light comes from a pale, gray dawn creeping through the gaps in the canopy, barely strong enough to lift the shadows.
Is it evening already? Or morning? How long have I been here?
The cold claws deeper into my bones. My teeth chatter uncontrollably. Did Zayan and Vinicola leave me here? Did they go back to the schooner without me?
“Zayan!” I shout, but my voice cracks, barely strong enough to carry over the river. “Vinicola!”
Nothing. No response. Just the soft ripple of water, the distant hum of the jungle, and the sound of my own breath coming faster and faster.
I start rubbing my arms in a desperate attempt to chase away the chill sinking into me. My head’s spinning, fragments of memory flashing—running through the jungle, slashing at vines, chasing… something. The compass.
Of course! The fuckingcompass.
The thought brings a wave of anger—hot enough to burn through the panic, if only for a second. I grit my teeth, fighting the weakness in my body. How the hell did I end up here? I was chasing that cursed thing, not drowning in some river like a half-drowned rat.
But then a rustle in the bushes makes me freeze. My pulse spikes, breath catching in my throat as I turn my head slowly.Something moves just beyond the trees, slipping between the branches like a shadow.
It steps out—a monkey. That same damned monkey with the compass. Its beady eyes lock onto mine, and for a second, the world tilts. It doesn’t have the compass now, but I recognize it. It’s the same one.
The way it looks at me… I felt it before, but not as strong as now. It looks at me like it’s conscious. Something in my gut twists, instincts flaring to life. Get away. Now.Run.
But I can’t, can I? My legs refuse to work, and I’m stuck, staring at this cursed creature like some kind of helpless fool. I want to lash out, to move, to do something—but all I can do is sit here, soaked and shaking, while the cold creeps in deeper.
I swallow hard, forcing down the panic clawing at my throat.
“Hey there,” I whisper, my voice a rasp, trying to sound calm, hoping to coax it closer, hoping to make sense of this. “Come here, little matey.”
What the hell am I doing?
A part of me wants to grab the nearest rock and smash it into the thing’s skull. Another part is too scared to even try. But instead, I outstretch my hand, like an idiot, beckoning it closer.
The monkey tilts its head, its eyes gleaming with something I can’t place. Something wrong. I could swear it’s amused. It takes a tentative step toward me, then another, until it’s right within arm’s reach. I twist my hand—palm up—trying to make it trust me, trying to convince myself it’s just an animal.
Because itisjust an animal. Nothing more.
But then, it speaks.
“What an interesting creature you are,” it whispers.
