He tipped his chin toward Sheba. ‘If we could replicate the same environment during front-line evacuations, we’d halve mortality.’
Jasper exhaled through his nose. ‘Then there’s the Silent Deserts.’
‘The Wadi Tansin,’ Imani said. ‘And the Okama Plateaus.’
‘Places so remote that sound actually collapses because the terrain itself absorbs it,’ Linh continued, ‘leaving you with near-zero acoustic input.’
Reyes nodded along. ‘Your amygdala firing drops in those conditions, which means stress injuries heal three to four times faster after just one night of exposure.’
‘But the access to those areas-,’ Sheba started, her brow furrowed.
‘-is the real problem,’ Jasper finished. ‘You’re dealing with wild cliffs, unstable dunes, and a level of silence that completely messes with your orientation.’
‘Very few people venture that far,’ Imani said, her gaze shifting across the bar. ‘Except, of course,him.’
The group shifted its attention to the centre of the bar, to the small packed-dirt arena where the locals’ entertainment was kicking up.
Sheba glanced over, and she jolted.
It was him.
Her silent rescuer.
‘That’s Idan, your hero, I believe. He’s also a local sheep farmer,’ Linh said to Sheba, with a wink.
Sheba blinked.Sheep farmer, my ass.
Her heart rate went wild as she studied him at the center of the revelry, commanding the chaos with little effort.
A giant dragon cobra reared before him, its hood spread out, scales catching moonlight and torchlight in burnished patterns.
The man’s calloused, sizable hands moved in slow, deliberate arcs, palms weaving through the air, holding the serpent’s attention with absolute focus.
Idan was bare to the waist, skin the color of sun-warmed gold etched with sigils that curved across his chest, arms, and ribs.
He wore thick, rust-colored, durable pants this time and sturdy leather utility boots that anchored him to the floor.
Muscle and sinew shifted with every movement, veins rising along his forearms.
The cobra followed his lead, body swaying, its strike held in check by what appeared to be an obsessive fascination with Idan.
A glass filled to the brim with an amber spirit sat on the ground before the mesmerized creature.
Without breaking the rhythm of his hands, Idan knelt on one knee, leaned forward, and caught the rim of the goblet with his teeth.
He tipped it back, long hair rippling down his spine as he drained the liquor slowly, throat flexing as he swallowed, never once losing the cobra’s attention.
His mouth was full and expressive, eyes glowing bright as he stared deep into the serpent’s, tumbler still snared in his lush lips.
Sheba’s breath hitched.
‘What foolishness,’ she murmured.
Yet her eyes refused to turn away.
His body rippled with waves of potency.
From the heavy fall of his undulating dark hair to the beard framing his jaw, down to the narrow cut of his waist, and the power in his thighs.
