The Sierra Madre didn't forgive mistakes.
Tay Eming knew it. Mau learned it, sometimes painfully.
"Eyes open," he said quietly, crouched behind a fallen log. "You never know what's waiting."
Mau shifted, dagger in hand, muscles coiled like springs. The forest smelled damp—earth, pine, faint smoke from last night's fire—but something else lurked: tension.
"Wait," she whispered.
"Patience," Tay Eming replied.
Then the forest erupted.
A rustle behind a bush, a snapped twig underfoot. A shadow darted between the trees.
Mau's body moved before her mind even processed it. A crouch, a pivot, a precise slash with the dagger.
The "attacker" emerged—a wooden dummy Tay Eming had rigged with ropes and weights to simulate ambush.
Mau froze, chest heaving, eyes wide.
"Good reflexes," Tay Eming said. "Better than I expected. But don't celebrate yet."
Her pulse slowed as he approached, handing her a bundle of herbs. "Now, heal it. Realistically. Every strike has consequence, every misstep has a cost. A wound untreated can kill, even in the forest."
Mau knelt beside the dummy, binding imaginary cuts with strips of cloth, applying crushed leaves and poultices.
"You're meticulous," he noted, arching a brow. "Did your city hands ever know this much care?"
She shrugged, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I… don't remember. I just do it."
"Memory is in the hands first, the mind second," Tay Eming said softly. "That's why the forest favors those who survive instinctively."
He studied her quietly, then added, almost teasing, "You know, if someone had trained you properly before being… removed from your world, you might have been unstoppable already."
Mau blinked at him. "…Removed from my world?"
He didn't answer, only watched, letting the words linger like smoke in the air.
Somewhere beyond the mountains, a shadow in a high-rise office tapped a folder labeled Mau White—Unaccounted.
Dave White leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable.
"Instinct is developing," he murmured. "Interesting."
The training continued, escalating subtly. Tay Eming introduced her to forest predators—not real, but simulated for reflexes: snakes hidden in brush, camouflaged targets, small traps. Each challenge sharpened her reflexes, taught her patience, and forced her to think critically under pressure.
Mau adapted quickly.
One morning, after a particularly grueling session dodging a swinging log, she collapsed laughing. "I'm either dying or… learning too fast."
Tay Eming shook his head, smiling. "Fast enough that if someone comes looking for you, they won't know what hit them."
She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "Someone is looking for me?"
He laughed softly, letting the question hang. "Of course. Forest doesn't keep secrets forever."