Chapter 238: Friction Burn
The jungle fought back.
Not with roars, not with beasts—but with silence. That unnatural hush between trees where every leaf seemed to watch and every shadow hinted at teeth.
We moved fast.
Anthony took point, his movements too clean for someone running on instinct. Camille flanked left, Evelyn close behind. Sienna and 3830 held rear guard, each watching our trail like it might vanish behind us. I stayed in the center, hand brushing the drone controller every ten steps.
According to the map, the evac crate was just two ridgelines south. We’d make it in twenty minutes if we kept this pace.
But nothing ever goes that clean.
We hit our first ambush in a clearing of split stone and creeper vines.
The jungle opened like a wound—sharp with sunlight, raw with heat. Broken stone jutted up through moss and tangled roots, like the bones of something ancient. Creeper vines hung down in limp threads from branches above, masking movement, warping depth perception.
It started simple. Two scouts—one visible, standing near a half-collapsed trunk with his rifle angled low, lazy. The other hidden, just a glint of glass behind foliage—enough for Anthony to catch it.
He raised a fist, then two fingers. Sniper. Flanking position.
I nodded and slid behind a fractured boulder crusted in lichen. My hands moved on instinct—calm, precise. My breath slowed. My mind sharpened. This was the kind of terrain I thrived in.