"Fewer," Radit corrected. He swung the machete, a swift, silent arc that severed a thick, looping vine before it could snag Camille’s tactical vest. "If their tech is half as good as their pay grade, they aren't using visual light anymore. They’ve got thermal gear, movement sensors, and local guides who know every inch of this ridge."Tariq swallowed hard, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps as he carefully planted his boot in the exact footprint Radit had just left in the slick muck. "And we’re leading them right up a dead end," he whispered, wiping a mixture of sweat and stagnant water from his stinging eyes. "This isn't a trail, Radit. It’s a goat track designed by someone who hated goats.""It’s a smugglers’ cut," Radit muttered, pausing just long enough to let them catch up before pushing forward through a wall of dripping broadleaf ferns. "The corporate boys won’t use the main paths because they’re too neat. They’ll take the high ground. Which means if we get high enough,

"They’re less than two hundred meters back," Camille whispered, her voice a sharp blade cutting through the heavy, humid air as she dropped low beside Radit. "And they're moving fast. The rain isn't slowing them down; it's just washing away our prints.""Good," Radit murmured back, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the jagged limestone face looming directly above them through the dense screen of dripping foliage. "That means they think we're running scared. They aren't looking for a trap.""Are we setting one?" Tariq asked, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he clutched his bleeding palm against his chest. He wiped a streak of muddy sweat from his forehead with his forearm, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror and adrenaline. "Because my hands are shaking so badly I couldn't thread a needle, let alone wire an explosive.""No explosives," Radit said, shifting his grip on the battered machete until his knuckles turned white. "Just gravity and bad footing. Move. Up the fissure. Now."

"Just a few more meters," Radit hissed under his breath, his boots scraping against the damp, mineral-stained limestone as he hauled his lean frame over the lip of the hidden ledge. "Up. Both of you. Now."Camille didn't hesitate. She threw her weight forward, her bruised fingers digging into the mossy earth at the mouth of the cavern, ignoring the sharp sting of fresh scrapes across her knuckles. She hoisted herself over the edge and immediately rolled into the shadows of the cave interior, pulling her legs clear of the opening just as a heavy gust of wind whipped rain across the cliff face."Tariq, give me your hand," Camille barked, leaning back out over the ledge and extending her arm down into the vertical crevice.Tariq was dangling half a step below, his face stark white under a mask of dried mud and sweat. His fingers were clamped so tightly around a protruding root that his knuckles looked like bleached bone. His chest heaved with ragged, shallow breaths that sounded like tea

"Shut up," Radit hissed, his hand clamping over Tariq’s mouth with enough force to cut off the younger man's ragged breathing entirely.Inside the pitch-black limestone cave, the air tasted of wet stone, old bat guano, and coppery sweat. Outside, the tropical storm raged with terrifying fury, turning the jungle into a chaotic symphony of howling wind, snapping branches, and deafening thunderclaps. Yet, cutting right through the environmental roar, a low, metallic clink echoed from the base of the cliff—the unmistakable sound of a tactical boot scraping against a wet rock.Camille pressed her back deeper into the jagged stone wall, her boots planted soundlessly. Her fingers drifted instinctively toward the cold iron wrench tucked into her waistband. She didn't dare blink. Her eyes strained against the absolute darkness, trying to pierce a void so thick it felt like velvet pressed against her eyelids. Beside her, Tariq struggled against Radit’s grip, his eyes wide, bloodshot, and franti

"Put that back in your vest, Tariq," Radit snapped, his voice dropping to a harsh, resonant whisper that cut through the darkness of the limestone cave. "If you try to broadcast anything on that fried piece of junk right now, you might as well light a flare and wave it over our heads.""We are already dead if we stay here!" Tariq shot back, his voice cracking with a frantic, hysterical edge that made Camille flinch. He clutched the smashed satellite communicator tightly against his chest, the ruined copper wires digging into his palm. "They have thermal drones, Radit! They have a perimeter locked down at the base of this ridge! The second the storm clears at dawn, they are walking straight up this cliff and putting a bullet through every single one of us. This is our only shot!""And broadcasting a high-frequency radio pulse is a homing beacon," Radit countered, stepping closer, his imposing silhouette blocking out what little ambient grey light managed to bleed into the deep cavern m