Beside me, Kerralyn’s breathing came quick and shallow. She clutched her journal against her chest. No weapon, but maybe she didn’t know how to use one.
Although, it didn’t take much effort to bash someone—orsomething—with a rock. I wasn’t sure a journal would do much for her in combat. She kept looking over her shoulder, her violet eyes widewith terror. Behind us, Maddox muttered a steady stream of curses and complaints.
Something moved in the canopy above us. Branches shook. Leaves rained down. We all looked up, squinting through the gloom, but I saw nothing. Just shadows within shadows.
Kerralyn stumbled over a root and went down hard, hitting her knee on a stone with a wet crack. The journal flew from her hands, landing in a patch of thick ferns that writhed at its touch.
“Fates, aren’t you clumsy,” Maddox snarled. He snatched up the journal and hurled it into the jungle. “We don’t have time for this shit.”
Kerralyn cried out. Tears streamed down her face as she got to her feet. “My mother gave me that. It’s all I?—”
Jaxon slammed into his brother, shoving him back so hard, Maddox fell back on the ground. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Maddox scrambled upright, his fists raised, but Jaxon was already pushing through the undergrowth, thorns raking his body as he hunted for the journal. He found it and brought it back to Kerralyn, gently placing it in her hands.
“Thank you,” she whispered, carefully brushing off bits of vegetation and dirt.
She shrugged off her pack and tucked the book safely inside. That’s when I realized all of us but Kerralyn had left our packs back in the cave. Our food, our water, our supplies. But it didn’t matter. We’d find Fara and return together.
The jungle pressed closer. Vines dropped down to scrape across our shoulders. Flowers opened as we passed, revealing rows of needle-sharp teeth. The air grew thicker, harder to breathe. Every shadow became a threat.
Bryson held up his hand, and we stopped dead. He cocked his head, listening, tension slaking across his weathered face. After a long moment that stretched like torture, he nodded and we moved forward again.
The tracks got worse. More debris dragged along the trail. Barkscraped from tree trunks in long, parallel gouges. A scrap of blue cloth—too much like Fara’s tunic—caught on a thorn bush, the fabric stained.
Dirt. I told myself it was dirt.
“Move,” Bryson breathed.
We picked up the pace. The trail led us through a grove of trees with bark peeling like rotting flesh, the tree branches reaching down in grasping fingers.
The jungle sounds grew louder. Closer. A piercing shriek echoed through the trees, followed by an answering call from somewhere behind us. Then the sharp snap of a thick branch breaking.
A low growl rumbled through the undergrowth to our right.
We froze. Held our breath. Waited for death to find us.
The feeling of being hunted intensified. Eyes on our backs. Something tracking our every move, waiting for the right moment to strike.
A massive downed tree blocked the trail ahead. The trunk came up to Bryson’s waist, its bark slick with moss and condensation. Fungus grew from its sides in shelf-like formations, glowing green phosphorescence.
Bryson climbed up onto it and over, grunting as he lost his balance, falling onto his back and slipping down the other side. His scrambling fingers left deep impressions in the soft, rotted bark.
He rose, facing us, clutching at the tree for support, before turning and stumbling forward. His guttural groan rang out.
I scrambled over the log and landed hard on my chest, on the ground.
An arm’s length away from my nose, Fara lay sprawled among roots and rotting leaves. Her body had been torn open, her ribs showing white through the red mess of what was once her chest. Her limbs lay at odd angles. Her face was locked in a scream, her eyes wide and milky. Blood pooled around her, soaking into the earth, already attracting flies.
Jaxon heaved. Scrambling back and onto my feet, I shoved my fist against my mouth, bile burning the back of my throat.
Claw marks scored the trees around Fara’s body, deep gouges in the bark that went down to the white wood beneath. Based on the width, the claws had to be the size of daggers.
“Fraewort.” Kerralyn stooped down beside Fara’s left hand, pointing at the cluster of bright green leaves she held in her grasp. “If I remember correctly, though I didn’t study herblore for long, this one can heal.” Her gaze lifted to my arm.
The leaves looked a lot like the ones I’d found on the cave floor. She’d made it back but something grabbed her.
Guilt slammed through me, a knife between the ribs, twisting. Fara had snuck out to find something for my wound. She’d risked her life to help me, and I’d been sleeping while something tore her apart, while she screamed and died alone in the dark.
