41. Mediocre

I narrowed my eyes, trying to adjust to the dim light filtering through the thick jungle canopy. Shadows danced with every rustle of a leaf, and the humid air hung heavy with tension. Then—

SWOOSH!

Something darted out from the dense underbrush with surprising speed. A blur, no bigger than a large dog, zipped past the twisted roots and vanished into the foliage.

I paused.

Then came the scent—sharp, coppery.

Blood.

Crimson droplets stained the leaves where the creature had passed, forming a thin, winding trail that led deeper into the jungle.

Without wasting a second, I moved. Not recklessly—I wasn't some amateur charging after a rabbit.

I stayed low, weaving between the trees, my boots making minimal sound against the damp earth.

The trail wasn't long, but it twisted, like the creature was staggering… or luring me.