The water in the iron pot reached a rolling boil. Thick white steam hissed into the air.

Kiana scraped the diced tomatoes off the bone knife and into the boiling water. The red juice instantly bled into the clear liquid, turning the broth a rich, vibrant crimson.

She grabbed a thick wooden stick and stirred the pot. The sweet, acidic aroma of cooked tomatoes rose with the steam, cutting through the dusty smell of the wasteland.

Kiana cracked the speckled bird eggs against the rim of the pot. With one hand, she dropped the yolks and whites into the rolling water.

The egg cooked in seconds, blooming into fluffy, golden-yellow ribbons that floated on top of the red broth.

She found a small pinch of coarse rock salt in the host's spice pouch and sprinkled it over the soup.

A complex, mouth-watering scent-something that had never existed in this brutal, primitive world-wafted through the camp.

Inside the stone room, Gunner shifted on the wooden bed. The smell pulled him out of his deep, healing sleep.

He forced his heavy eyes open. The jagged wound on his stomach still burned, but the paralyzing, icy grip of the poison was gone.

His stomach let out a violent rumble. He turned his head toward the open door, following the scent.

Outside, bathed in the morning sunlight, sat the woman who had tortured him for months.

Kiana was squatting by the fire, her eyes focused entirely on stirring the pot.

The sunlight hit the side of her face. Despite the horrifying purple toxic spots covering her skin, her expression was incredibly calm. Peaceful.

Gunner stared at her. His brain couldn't reconcile the screaming, violent monster in his memories with the quiet woman cooking by the fire.

Kiana felt his eyes on her. She turned her head and met his intense, searching gaze.

She didn't look away. She reached for a clean wooden bowl, dipped it into the pot, and filled it to the brim with steaming hot soup.

She stood up and walked into the stone room, stopping right beside his bed.

Gunner's muscles instantly locked. His vertical snake-like pupils contracted into thin slits. He braced himself for pain.

Kiana saw the fear in his eyes. She immediately took a half-step back, putting physical distance between them.

She set the wooden bowl down on a flat stone near his head.

"Eat," Kiana said, her voice flat and emotionless. "You need energy to heal."

She didn't wait for a response. She turned her back on him and walked straight out the door, returning to the fire. She gave him total privacy.

Gunner looked down at the bowl. The red and yellow soup steamed in the cool air. It smelled like heaven.

He swallowed hard. The starvation and the incredible aroma broke his willpower. He reached out with a trembling hand and picked up the bowl.

He took a tiny, hesitant sip.

The rich, savory, sweet-and-sour flavor exploded across his tongue.

Gunner's eyes flew wide open. A shockwave of pure pleasure hit his brain. He swore to the gods he had never tasted anything so incredible in his entire life.

He abandoned all caution. He tipped the bowl back and chugged the scalding soup, swallowing the eggs and tomatoes in massive gulps until the bowl was completely empty.

The hot liquid hit his stomach, sending a rush of intense, comforting warmth through his freezing, recovering body.

He looked out the door at Kiana's back. The raw hatred in his eyes began to fracture, replaced by a messy knot of confusion and deep, undeniable gratitude.

Kiana glanced over her shoulder. She saw the empty bowl. A tiny, invisible smirk touched her lips.

She walked back in and picked up the bowl. "The tribe's rations are garbage," she stated matter-of-factly, her voice calm and deliberate. "When you can walk, we are going into the deep forest to find real food."

Gunner stared at her for a long second. Slowly, he gave a single, stiff nod. He agreed.

A few days later, the Viridian energy Kiana had left in Gunner's body worked a miracle. The fatal wound had closed into a thick pink scar.

Early in the morning, Kiana strapped a crude, woven-vine basket to her back.

Gunner walked exactly half a step behind her. His hand rested on the hilt of a jagged bone knife at his waist. He had naturally fallen into the role of her bodyguard.

They walked side-by-side down the dirt path leading to the edge of the tribal camp.

A female named Chrystal Olsen was tossing a basin of dirty water into the dirt. She froze when she saw them.

Chrystal's eyes bugged out of her head. It was like she was watching a ghost walk through the camp.

She immediately grabbed the arms of two other females walking by. She pointed at Kiana and started practically screaming her gossip.

"Look at that!" Chrystal sneered loudly. "The wicked bitch didn't whip him to death! She actually let him out of the house!"

Another female crossed her arms and laughed maliciously. "She's probably dragging him into the forest to feed him to the mutated beasts. He's still injured. He's dead meat."

The vicious, mocking words carried clearly through the crisp morning air.

Gunner's grip on his bone knife tightened until his knuckles turned white. His vertical pupils narrowed into deadly slits. He shifted his weight, preparing to turn around and silence them.

Kiana stopped walking. She turned her head and looked directly at the group of gossiping females.

There was no rage in her eyes. No screaming fit. Just a cold, empty stare. She looked at them the way a human looks at a noisy insect.

The females felt the sudden, crushing weight of her gaze. The malicious smiles slid off their faces. A cold chill ran down Chrystal's spine, and she snapped her mouth shut. It wasn't just the freezing emptiness in Kiana's eyes that terrified them; it was the absolute, unnatural calmness. This was entirely different from the screaming, whip-wielding madwoman they knew. That terrifying contrast made an unsettling sense of dread settle heavily in their stomachs.

Kiana didn't say a single word to them. She turned her head back to the path.

"Let's go," Kiana said to Gunner, her voice completely bored. "Don't waste energy on trash."

Gunner stared at her profile. His heart gave a strange, heavy thump.

The old Kiana would have drawn her whip and started a bloody brawl right here in the dirt. This new Kiana possessed a terrifying, unshakable calm.

They stepped past the tree line and into the deep forest.

The massive, ancient trees immediately blocked out the sun. The air turned damp, smelling of rotting leaves and wet earth. A low, guttural roar echoed in the distance.

Gunner instantly shifted his body, stepping slightly in front of Kiana to shield her from the unknown darkness.

Kiana ignored the creepy atmosphere. Her eyes scanned the underbrush, looking for resources.

She spotted a patch of tall, incredibly tough-looking grass with serrated edges.

She stopped, pulled a small bone knife from her belt, and slashed down a massive handful of the long grass.

Gunner frowned, his eyes scanning the trees. "What are you doing with weeds?"

"Making tools," Kiana replied.

Her fingers moved in a blur. She twisted, knotted, and braided the tough grass with practiced, mechanical precision. It was muscle memory from years of surviving the apocalypse.

In less than three minutes, the pile of grass had been transformed into a thick, tightly woven net bag.

Gunner watched her hands, mesmerized.

He realized then that the woman standing in front of him didn't just know how to cook. She held survival knowledge that no one in this primitive wasteland possessed.

Kiana tossed the finished net to Gunner. "Test it."

Gunner grabbed both ends and pulled hard. The grass fibers groaned, but the knots held perfectly firm. It was incredibly strong.

He looked up from the net and met Kiana's eyes. For the first time since she had arrived in this world, Gunner offered her a very faint, genuine smile.

The deeper they walked into the forest, the thicker the trunks became. The canopy overhead wove together into a solid roof of dark green leaves, suffocating the light.

Kiana tilted her head back, scanning the high branches for any signs of edible fruit or bird nests.

Suddenly, a microscopic rustle of leaves echoed from the branch directly above her head.

Gunner's snake-like pupils contracted into pinpricks. The muscles in his thighs bunched.

"Watch out!" Gunner roared.

He threw his entire body weight forward and shoved Kiana hard in the chest.

In the exact fraction of a second that Kiana stumbled backward, a mutated lynx the size of a full-grown leopard dropped from the canopy. Thick, razor-sharp bone spikes protruded from its spine.

Its massive claws slammed into the dirt exactly where Kiana had been standing, ripping deep trenches into the soil.

Kiana hit the trunk of a massive tree back-first. The air rushed out of her lungs in a painful grunt.

The mutated lynx missed its prey. It let out an ear-piercing shriek, spun around on its hind legs, and lunged straight at Gunner's throat.

Gunner didn't step back. He stepped in.

His bone knife flashed in the dim light. He twisted his torso, letting the lynx's claws slice through the air inches from his chest. With brutal precision, he drove the bone knife deep into the soft flesh behind the beast's ribs.

The lynx screamed in agony. It thrashed wildly, whipping its spiked tail toward Gunner's head.

Gunner ripped the knife out, pivoted on his heel, and delivered a devastating kick to the side of the lynx's skull.

The heavy thud of bone cracking echoed through the trees. The beast flew through the air, crashed into the dirt, and twitched violently before going completely still.

The entire fight lasted less than four seconds.

Kiana leaned against the tree, her chest heaving. She stared at Gunner's broad back, genuinely impressed by his lethal efficiency.

Kiana pushed herself off the massive tree trunk, taking a step toward the dead carcass to inspect the kill. However, the dim lighting of the canopy obscured a deep, sinkhole-like crevice hidden beneath a thick layer of rotting leaves and vines. As her boot came down, the ground gave way entirely.

She lost her balance entirely. Her body pitched sideways, falling fast toward a cluster of jagged, sharp rocks protruding from the bottom of the hidden pit.

Gunner saw her falling out of the corner of his eye. His heart slammed against his ribs.

He exploded off his back foot, moving faster than humanly possible.

A split second before Kiana's skull hit the rocks, Gunner's thick, muscular arms wrapped securely around her waist and shoulders.

He took the brunt of the momentum, pulling her hard against his chest.

Kiana slammed into his warm, solid body. Their chests pressed tightly together. She could feel his heart hammering wildly against her own.

Gunner's breathing was ragged. He looked down at her face, his eyes dark with a sudden, intense fear of losing her.

In that exact moment of intense physical contact, a sharp, synthetic chime rang out inside Kiana's brain.

[BEEP—Deep physical contact with eligible Consort detected.]

[System Note: Prior contact failed to meet full bio-resonance calibration threshold. Current neural-hormonal signature now exceeds activation parameters.]

[The Oracle System is activating... 10%... 50%... 100%!]

[System Activation Successful. Welcome, Host Kiana.]

Kiana's breath hitched. Her eyes widened in absolute shock as the mechanical voice echoed in her skull.

Gunner felt her body stiffen. He thought she was terrified from the near-death experience. His large hand awkwardly patted the middle of her back. "Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice rough.

Kiana snapped back to reality. Her gaze dropped to the jagged rocks jutting inches from her boots—a single wrong step would snap bone. She stilled her hands against his chest, not shoving him away. "Get us out of this pit first," she said, her voice tight. "Then I'll tell you if I'm hurt."

Gunner's serpentine eyes swept the crevice wall, calculating every handhold in the near-darkness, and pulled her toward the safest ascent.