Chapter Eight: The Long Walk
She didn't leave the ravine until full dark.
The mud had dried into a grey crust on her skin, cracking at the joints, and her muscles screamed when she finally stood. She climbed out slowly, testing each handhold, keeping her breathing shallow and controlled.
It didn't kill you.
That was the part she couldn't stop thinking about.
It had seen her. Looked directly at her. And walked away.
Why?
Maya pulled herself over the lip of the ravine and collapsed onto the stone. Her hands were shaking. Her teeth chattered despite the heat. The adrenaline crash hit all at once—nausea, dizziness, the sudden animal urge to run—but she forced herself to stay still.
Think. Process. Survive.
The notebook's message replayed in her head:
Don't run. Don't hide. It sees heat.
But she had hidden. And it still saw her.
Unless...
Maya looked down at her hands.
The mud had insulated her skin, yes. Dropped her surface temperature. But it hadn't stopped her heart. Hadn't slowed her breathing. Hadn't touched the furnace of blood and panic and fear burning just beneath the surface.
I wasn't glowing because I moved.
I was glowing because I was alive.
The realization settled over her like a weight.
It wasn't hunting motion. It wasn't hunting sound.
It was hunting life.
And fear made life burn brighter.
Chapter Nine: The Ridge
She walked through the night.
Not because she had a plan. Not because she knew where she was going. But because staying still felt like surrender, and surrender felt like death.
The jungle thinned as the elevation rose. The trees became sparse and wind-bent, their trunks wrapped in lichen, and the ground shifted from soil to loose volcanic gravel that crunched under her boots. The air cooled. The stars came out—dense and foreign, constellations she didn't recognize.
At 23:00, she stopped at a ridge and looked back.
The jungle was a dark sea below her, broken only by the faint silver thread of the river. No lights. No fires. No sign of rescue.
Just green and black and silence.
Maya sat down and pulled out the last protein bar.
She ate it slowly, chewing each bite until it dissolved, washing it down with the last of the water. The flare gun sat heavy in her belt. One shot. One chance to signal.
But signal what?
That she was alive?
That she was prey?
She touched the beacon on her vest. Still blinking. Still useless.
And then, from somewhere downslope, she heard it.
Click.
Maya's hand went to the knife.
Click-click.
Closer now. Moving uphill. Steady. Deliberate.
She stood and backed toward the edge of the ridge. Her boots crunched on gravel. Too loud. Too obvious.
Don't run.
She stopped.
Turned.
And waited.
The clicking grew louder. Closer. And then, through the sparse trees at the edge of the ridge, it stepped into view.
Chapter Ten: Face to Face
This time, she saw it clearly.
Not human. Not animal.
Something else.
It was tall—over seven feet, maybe more—and its body was armored in a way that suggested both biology and technology. Plated. Angular. The surface caught the starlight in strange ways, refracting it like oil on water. Its legs were digitigrade, the joints reversed, and its arms were long and corded with muscle.
But it was the mask that stopped her.
Smooth. Featureless. Except for the eyes.
The eyes glowed.
Not with light. With something deeper. Something that drank the darkness and gave nothing back.
It stopped ten meters away.
Maya's hand tightened on the knife.
The thing tilted its head.
And then it clicked.
Not from its mouth. From somewhere inside its chest—a mechanical sound, deliberate, testing.
Maya's throat was dry. Her pulse hammered in her ears.
Thud-thud. Thud-thud. Thud-thud.
The thing took one step forward.
Maya raised the knife.
It stopped.
Cocked its head the other way.
And then—slowly, deliberately—it reached up and touched the side of its mask.
The air shimmered.
And Maya understood.
Chapter Eleven: The Test
It wasn't trying to kill her.
It was studying her.
The realization hit like a fist to the gut. This wasn't a hunt. It was a test.
She lowered the knife. Not dropped it—she wasn't that stupid—but let her arm fall to her side. Non-threatening. Non-aggressive.
The thing watched her.
Click.
Maya swallowed.
"I'm not running," she said. Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat and tried again. "I'm not running."
The thing didn't respond.
But it didn't move either.
They stood there, ten meters apart, under a sky full of stars, and Maya felt the weight of the moment settle over her like gravity.
This is it. This is the choice.
She could run. Could pull the flare gun and fire it into the thing's face and hope the light and noise bought her enough time to disappear into the trees.
Or she could stay.
And see what it wanted.
Maya took a slow breath. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
Her pulse slowed.
Thud... thud... thud...
The thing's head tilted again.
And then, with a sound like tearing fabric, it vanished.
Not moved. Not fled.
Gone.
The air where it had been standing rippled and settled, and Maya was alone on the ridge.
She stood there for a long time.
And then she started laughing.