The sun had climbed halfway toward its peak by the time the man returned. He was sweating, chest heaving slightly as he trudged back into the clearing, flanked by two broad-shouldered natives. They were tall, scarred from battles and hunts, with the lean, hardened muscle of men who'd known the jungle all their lives. Their expressions were wary, not of fear, but of anticipation. As if they knew that by agreeing to this task, their lives were about to change in ways they couldn't predict.
The group stirred. Liam rose from the log where he sat beside Mariel, who hadn't spoken another word since their last exchange. He walked toward the returning native, his voice calm but loud enough to command attention.
"Von," he said, signaling the interpreter. "Gather them. All of them. One last time."
