The sound of rushing water grew louder as the group pushed through the underbrush. Curt's stride was steady, jarring Areli's ribs with every step, but she bit her lip and stayed silent.

They emerged into a small clearing by a stream. Curt set her down gently on a flat, sun-warmed boulder. The sunlight felt good on her chilled skin.

Doyle immediately moved to the perimeter, his back to them, scanning the tree line. Perfect. The cold one was gone.

Areli pushed herself upright, wincing dramatically. She looked at Curt, who was sorting through his pack.

"I need to find some medicinal herbs," she said, her voice steadier now. "To stop the bleeding. I can't just sit here and be a burden. I need to pull my weight."

Curt paused, looking at her with a mixture of surprise and respect. "You're injured. Rest."

"I can't rest," Areli insisted, swinging her legs over the edge of the rock. "Please. Just let me do this."

Curt sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. But I'm right behind you."

Areli limped toward the edge of the clearing, where a patch of weeds grew near the water. Curt followed three paces back, watching her like a hawk.

She scanned the ground. There was nothing useful here, but that wasn't the point. She spotted a thick root snaking out of the mud, perfectly positioned.

She took a deep breath. This is going to hurt.

She stepped on the root, letting her ankle twist sideways. She let out a sharp yelp, pitching forward headfirst into the dirt.

Curt moved like lightning. His arm shot out, catching her inches before her face hit the ground. He pulled her back against his chest, his breath warm on her ear.

"I got you," he muttered.

Areli clutched her ankle, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood. Tears-real ones this time, from the pain-welled up instantly. "It's my fault," she sobbed, her voice trembling. "Gloria was right. I'm always so clumsy."

Curt stiffened. "Who is Gloria?"

Areli froze. She had said the name on purpose, but now she had to play the part. She clamped a hand over her mouth, her eyes darting around like a trapped rabbit. "Nothing! Forget I said that. Please, don't ask."

Brown appeared, dropping a load of firewood nearby. His ears perked up. "What's going on?"

Curt's face was like thunder. "She mentioned someone named Gloria. Said she was clumsy."

Brown's expression darkened. He walked over, crouching in front of Areli. "Who is she? Why would she say that?"

Areli shook her head violently, her hands twisting the hem of Curt's jacket. "I shouldn't have said anything. It doesn't matter."

"Tell us," Curt ordered, his voice low and dangerous.

Areli sniffled, looking down at her lap. "She's... she's the senior Medical Officer. She says I'm useless. That I'll never be a real healer." She paused, letting a fresh wave of tears fall. "She takes my work and claims it as her own. And her mate, Eugene... he says things. Terrible things. About how I'm only good for..."

She trailed off, hugging herself.

Curt's fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were white. "That's abuse. That clan is garbage. You don't owe them anything."

Areli looked up at him, her eyes red and puffy. A faint, brave smile touched her lips. "It's fine. As long as I work hard, they'll acknowledge me eventually. Right?"

The sheer absurdity of the statement-the classic victim rationalization-hit both men like a punch to the gut. Brown looked away, a muscle ticking in his jaw. Curt looked like he wanted to punch something.

"You don't have to prove anything to scum like that," Curt growled.

Areli reached out, her fingers lightly brushing Curt's sleeve. "Thank you," she whispered. "For believing me."

Curt's ears turned a faint pink. He cleared his throat, looking away, but his body shifted closer to hers, shielding her from the wind.

Brown stood up, his earlier suspicion replaced by a gruff sympathy. "We'll get you sorted," he said.

Areli nodded, wiping her eyes. As she lowered her head, a shadow fell over her face. In the darkness, away from their eyes, her lips curled into a cold, triumphant smile.

She had them. Hook, line, and sinker.

A twig snapped. Doyle emerged from the trees, two dead rabbits dangling from his grip. He stopped, his sharp eyes taking in the scene-the weeping female, the angry males, the tense atmosphere.

"What did I miss?" he asked flatly.

Areli's smile vanished instantly. She shrank back against the rock, the picture of a frightened mouse once more.

The fire crackled, casting long, dancing shadows across the campsite. The smell of roasting rabbit filled the air, but Areli had no appetite. She sat wrapped in Curt's jacket, staring into the flames.

Brown sat across from her, his sharp eyes studying her face. The sympathy from earlier was gone, replaced by a calculating intensity.

"Areli," he said, his voice cutting through the quiet. "You said you slipped and fell off the cliff, right?"

Areli nodded, her stomach tightening. "Yes."

Brown leaned forward. "Then why don't you have any scrapes?"

Areli blinked. "What?"

"If you rolled down a rock face," Brown said slowly, enunciating every word, "you'd be scraped up like a side of beef. But your skin, aside from the dirt and the bruises, is smooth. The only injuries you have are impact wounds. Like you were dropped."

The silence was deafening. Areli's heart hammered against her ribs. She had underestimated them. They weren't just muscle; they were trackers. Hunters.

She couldn't tell them the truth. If she said she was pushed, she'd be admitting she was involved in a clan power struggle. They would dump her-or worse, hand her back.

She had to lie. But the truth was too obvious. She needed something bigger.

Areli didn't answer. Instead, she stared at the fire, letting her pupils dilate. She forced her breathing to hitch, then accelerate. Her chest heaved. Her hands began to tremble, violently.

"No," she whispered. "No, no, no..."

Brown frowned. "Areli? I asked you a question."

She didn't hear him. She was somewhere else. She clutched her head, her nails digging into her scalp. A raw, guttural scream tore from her throat.

"It was huge!" she shrieked, her eyes wide and unseeing. "The wings... the claws... it grabbed me! It picked me up and it dropped me!"

Curt was on his feet in an instant. He shoved Brown back. "What the hell are you doing? You're triggering her!"

"I'm asking a simple question!" Brown protested, though he looked rattled.

Areli grabbed Curt's arm, her grip bruising. "Don't let it eat me!" she sobbed, her body shaking uncontrollably. "Please! It was so big! The wind... and then nothing!"

Curt pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her. "It's okay. It's gone. You're safe."

He glared at Brown. "Are you happy now? You gave her a panic attack."

Brown looked stunned. He rubbed the back of his neck, his face flushing with guilt. "I... I didn't know. I'm sorry. I was just doing my job."

Brown muttered an apology, handing her a clean skin blanket. "Here. I'm sorry, little female. I shouldn't have pushed. What you're saying makes sense... the Blackwind Cliff area is a known hunting ground for Wind Drakes. They dive from the clouds, snatch their prey, and leave no tracks. If one of them dropped you mid-flight, it explains everything."

Areli took it with a trembling hand, offering him a weak, watery smile. "It's okay. You were just being careful."

Curt handed her a piece of roasted meat. "Eat. You need your strength."

She took a small bite, chewing mechanically. As she ate, she let her gaze drift over the three men. They were powerful. Disciplined. And they answered to someone called a "Warlord."

That Warlord was the key. If she could get to him, she could use his power to crush Gloria and Eugene.

Suddenly, a strange energy ripple pulsed through the forest. The fire flickered wildly. The hair on Areli's arms stood up.

Doyle materialized out of the darkness, his face grim. He made a sharp, urgent gesture with his hand.

Brown and Curt were instantly on their feet, all traces of relaxation gone.

"Move," Curt ordered, pulling Areli up. "Now."

Curt carefully lifted Areli onto his back, supporting her hips and avoiding pressure on her broken ribs. The group took off through the jungle at a dead sprint.

Branches whipped past Areli's face. The jarring motion sent lances of pain through her ribs, but she gritted her teeth and stayed silent. Complaining would only slow them down.

Brown ran point, hacking through vines with a machete. "So, your clan," he called back, his voice barely winded. "What's the deal with them?"

Areli knew this was another test. "It's the Blackridge Clan. It's a toxic environment," she said, her voice breathless from the run. "The leadership is corrupt. They hoard all the medical resources. If you aren't born into the right family, you're nothing."

"Sounds like a shithole," Brown grunted.

"It is," Areli agreed. "That's why I was out there alone. They don't care about the lower ranks."

Brown nodded, seemingly satisfied.

Then, the world exploded.

A wave of pure, terrifying energy blasted through the trees ahead. The air temperature plummeted. Frost coated the leaves instantly.

Curt skidded to a halt, easing Areli gently down behind a thick trunk. He drew a massive combat knife, his body tense.

Doyle flashed back, his face pale. "The Warlord. He's been hit by a Phantom Vine."

Brown cursed. They took off again.

Areli pushed herself up with a gasp, pain lancing through her chest. "I'm the only one who might know..." she whispered, and staggered after them. Each step was agony, her broken ribs grinding, but she clenched her jaw and followed the trail of frost. By the time she stumbled through the treeline into a devastated clearing, the three men were already surrounding a kneeling figure.

In the center knelt a man.

No, not a man. A god of war.

He was enormous, his muscles straining against his tactical vest. His eyes were glowing red, devoid of sanity. Frost spiraled around him, freezing the very air.

But Areli's eyes weren't on the ice. They were on his neck. Thick, purple-red veins crawled up his skin, pulsing with a sickly light.

Her biochemist brain kicked into high gear. That wasn't just poison. The vasodilation, the rapid pulse, the loss of cognitive function...

"He's not just poisoned!" Areli shouted over the howling wind. "That Phantom Vine isn't a normal venom! It's a blood-boiling heat-inducer! It's burning away his sanity to make him mate!"

Brown spun around, his eyes wide. "What?"

"If we don't cool him down and draw the heat out, his veins will burst and he'll bleed out from the inside in ten minutes!" Areli yelled, forcing herself to step closer to the others.

Hudson-the Warlord-heard her voice. His head snapped up. Those red, feral eyes locked onto her.

The look was pure, undiluted predator. Hunger. Violence. Lust.

Areli froze. Every instinct screamed at her to run.

Brown grabbed her shoulder. "You're a medic! How do we cure him? !"

Areli's mind raced. "We need Ice Core Grass and snake slough to neutralize the toxin chemically-"

"We're in a Level Five zone!" Doyle interrupted. "There is no Ice Core Grass!"

Areli's face went white. The conventional cure was impossible.

"Then we have to use a high-level female's fluid to neutralize it physically," she said, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. "Or he has to force it out with his own energy."

The three men looked at each other. There were no high-level females here. There was only her.

Hudson let out a roar of agony. He slammed his fists into the ground. The ice storm intensified.

"Stay back!" he roared, his voice barely human. He was trying to freeze himself. Trying to burn the poison out with cold.

It was suicide. And it was the only thing keeping him from ripping her apart.