Page 114 of The Hunter's Empire

She shakes her head immediately. "No."

"We don't have a choice."

"There has to be another way."

"There isn't."

I grip her shoulders, forcing her to look at me.

"Listen carefully. If we get separated, head straight to the rendezvous point."

"And if you aren't there?" She asks.

"I'll get there."

"Nico..."

"If I'm delayed, you wait fifteen minutes. Not a second longer."

"And after that?"

"You leave."

Her expression hardens. "No."

"Zora."

"I'm not leaving you."

Another volley of gunfire erupts somewhere behind us, followed by shouted orders moving closer through the trees. The choice is made for us.

I squeeze her shoulder once. "Go."

For a fraction of a second, she doesn't move. Then I turn and sprint into the trees to draw them after me, trusting that she'll do exactly what I told her not to argue about.

By the time I reach the ravine we'd chosen as our meeting point, darkness has settled over the island. The jungle is unnaturally still, and I crouch behind a cluster of rocks, forcing myself to slow my breathing as I listen for any sign of Zora.

Nothing. Five minutes become ten. Ten become twenty.

I tell myself she's delayed. That she took a longer route to avoid the patrols. That she's doing exactly what I taught her to do. But the excuses become less believable with every passing minute.

By the time nearly an hour has slipped by, I know something is wrong. I leave the ravine and retrace the route I expected her to take, moving carefully through the darkness. The jungle is far less forgiving at night.

Every shadow resembles a person, every shifting branch threatens to betray my position. I search for anything out of place, and before long I find it. A snapped fern. Fresh footprints pressed into damp earth. A faint smear of blood across a jagged rock.

Someone came through here.

I follow the trail toward the western cliffs until distant voices drift through the trees.

"There!"

"No, over there!"

"Spread out!"

I immediately drop into the undergrowth and peer through the foliage. At least ten men sweep the area with flashlights, their rifles raised as they move methodically between the trees. They're searching too carefully to have given up.

Then I see her. Zora is wedged between two massive rocks beneath a curtain of tangled vines, one hand clamped over her mouth while the other grips her swollen ankle. Even from where I am, I can tell she can barely put weight on it. She's trapped.