"Wait here," Andrew said to Bruce, patting the big man's shoulder. "I'll find her."
Bruce didn't look happy about separating, his eyes darting around the crowded tavern where they had regrouped, but he nodded. "Keep your head. She didn't look like the talking type."
Andrew wove through the crowd and slipped out the back door, following the rumors of where the fighters went to cool down. He saw a flash of crimson hair vanishing into the tree line at the edge of town. The jungle here was different from the city parks; it was ancient, the canopy so thick it swallowed the afternoon sun.
He followed her. It wasn't hard; her boots left faint impressions in the moss.
Evangeline moved with purpose, deeper and deeper into the shadows. She wasn't cooling down; she was fleeing. Was she running from the glory? Or something else?
Suddenly, she stopped. She didn't turn around.
Andrew froze, hiding behind a wide oak trunk. *Did she see me?*
Evangeline's hand drifted to her hilt. She assumed it was a thief—someone coming to steal her prize money. The thought made her scowl. She didn't have time for this.
She bolted.
One second she was there, the next she was a blur of motion, disappearing into the dense undergrowth.
"Hey! Wait!" Andrew shouted, blowing his cover. He ran forward, stumbling over roots. "I just want to talk!"
He pushed through a wall of ferns, coming out into a small clearing. It was empty.
"Dammit," Andrew panted, hands on his knees. "She's a ghost."
He straightened up, turning in a slow circle. "Hello? Look, I'm not a thief! I saw your match! That strike against the Iron Bull—"
*Rustle.*
The sound came from above. Before Andrew could look up, a weight slammed into his shoulders.
The world spun. He hit the dirt hard, the air knocked out of him. Before he could scramble away, a boot pressed onto his chest, pinning him down.
Cold steel touched his throat.
Andrew froze, his eyes crossing as he looked down the length of the crimson katana. At the other end of the blade was Evangeline. Her eyes were green, sharp, and utterly devoid of mercy.
"Give me one reason why I shouldn't carve you up," she hissed, pressing the blade just enough to prick the skin. "Who sent you? Drake? The Commander?"
"Nobody!" Andrew squeaked, raising his hands in surrender. "I swear! I'm Andrew! I just... I wanted to ask about your swordsmanship!"
Evangeline stared at him, searching for the lie. Finding none, she looked even more annoyed. "You stalked me into a lethal jungle... to ask for a tip?"
"It was very impressive!" Andrew insisted, despite the blade at his jugular.
"You're an idiot," she spat. She stepped back, sheathing her sword in one fluid motion. "Get lost. If I see you again, I won't hesitate."
She turned and walked away.
Andrew scrambled up, dusting off his shirt. Most men would have run back to the tavern. Andrew was not most men. He was desperate.
He jogged after her. "Wait! Why are you fighting? You're young! It's risky! You could have died today!"
"None of your business," she growled, not breaking stride.
"Is it for money? Glory? Do you just really hate guys in armor?"
"Don't follow me."
"I have a proposition! A mission! We're going to an island—"
Evangeline stopped so abruptly Andrew almost ran into her. She spun around, her face twisted in frustration. *Shhhk.* The katana was out again, the tip hovering inches from his nose.
"I am not," she seethed, "in the mood to listen to your trash. Leave me alone, or I kill you. Right now."
Andrew gasped, throwing his hands up again. The comedy of the situation—a data entry specialist negotiating with a warrior princess—wasn't lost on him.
"No, no, no!" he yelped. Then, his brain misfiring in panic, he blurted out, "Good lady, don't kill people!"
Evangeline blinked, thrown off balance by the absurdity. "I am *not* a good lady."
"Okay, bad lady!" Andrew corrected quickly. Then he grimaced. "Ah, I mean... pretty lady? Please. Just listen. One minute. Sixty seconds. If you don't like what I say, I walk away. I promise."
Evangeline stared at him. The anger in her eyes didn't fade, but curiosity—or perhaps just exhaustion—crept in. She lowered the katana slowly.
"You have sixty seconds," she said icily. "Start talking."