Chapter 21: Uncertain Ground

The hunter's base was never silent. Even in the dead of night, the distant clang of the forge, the murmurs of strategizing squads, and the ever-present hum of the jungle just beyond the walls filled the air. But tonight, there was a different kind of quiet—one weighted with unease.

Mara sat at the center of it.

Wrapped in a thick blanket, she clutched a steaming cup between her hands, staring down into the liquid as if it held answers. It didn't. The tea was bitter, the warmth barely registering against her skin. Her fingers trembled slightly, though whether from the cold seeping into her bones or the memories clawing at the edges of her mind, she didn't know.

Across the table, Captain Roland studied her with a frown. He wasn't a man of many words, but his presence alone commanded attention. The rest of the gathered hunters—scouts, medics, and a few ranking officers—kept their voices low, murmuring among themselves as they processed what little she had managed to say.

A scribe sat in the corner, scratching quill to parchment, documenting every halting sentence Mara had given them. The jungle. The tracking mission. The thing that Pukei-Pukei had become. Jorren—oh, gods, Jorren—and then Alden staying behind so she could run.

No one spoke for a long moment.

Then, finally, Roland broke the silence.

"You're sure about what you saw?"

Mara flinched, the words dragging her back to the suffocating darkness of the jungle, to Jorren's gurgling breaths and Alden's last, desperate stand. She swallowed, her throat tight. "I know what I saw."

A medic stepped closer, adjusting the lantern's light to get a better look at her. "You're lucky to be alive. You inhaled a lot of that… mist." She hesitated, glancing at the other hunters before pressing on. "Have you felt any strange symptoms? Nausea? Hallucinations?"

Mara hesitated.

The food had tasted off. Not bad—just… wrong. But that wasn't proof of anything. She was exhausted, traumatized. Of course, things felt strange.

"I'm fine," she said, though the words felt hollow.

Roland's frown deepened, but he let it slide. Instead, he turned to the room at large. "We need a decision. Do we send a search party?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and unspoken.

Some hunters shifted uncomfortably, avoiding each other's eyes. Others exchanged quick, uncertain glances. No one wanted to say it outright, but Mara saw it in their faces. If they went back out there, they might not return.

"They could still be alive," one of the younger scouts said, though his voice lacked conviction. "Alden's survived worse."

"Not like this," another muttered.

One of the more seasoned hunters, a man named Garrick, leaned forward. "We need to be smart about this. If we go back, we go prepared. We treat this as an unknown threat, not just a search mission."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the group.

Roland exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. His gaze flickered back to Mara, considering. "Get some rest," he said at last. "We'll decide in the morning."

Mara nodded, but rest wouldn't come.

Not when her mind was still trapped in the jungle.

And not when, deep in the recesses of her thoughts, a voice that wasn't quite her own whispered back.

The infection had taken root.