This is the second time Lonan’s brought up the stone-pillar map, and the second time Cass has insisted he doesn’t need another look at it. Even though Lonan’s the one pressing the issue, he seems almost relieved when Cass gives him resistance. No way in hell we can study it with her around, his look said, earlier. As if my eyes are sharp for treasure map details, yet blind toward not-so-subtle unspoken messages.
But perhaps I am blinder than I think, because other than the obvious things, their mixed messages are extremely difficult to read. It’s clear enough that the three guys are a simmering force, all secrecy and drive fueled by passion and self-preservation. And there’s evidence of integrity there, the tough but flexible ligaments that hold them together.
The muddy side to all this, though, is that even with their dagger sheathed at my hip, I can’t—I shouldn’t—let my guard down. Passion and integrity can be a volatile combination when you’re the perceived threat. What was it he said, when he asked for my ring? Consider it my way of saying I don’t trust you, either?
Problem is, I can’t prove I’m not a threat until they prove they’re not a threat, so.
“I see the pants fit,” Lonan says as we make our way deeper into the jungle.
They’d zipped up easily, and though they were snug, the fit was comfortable, not restrictive. Before the war, that would have been cause for celebration, but now it’s slightly worrying. “Remind me to eat more today,” I say, as if I haven’t already been eating everything available back at camp. If there’s anything I learned from my junior high health classes, it’s that starving a body can backfire in all sorts of ways, and that physical exertion requires calories. Comfortable pants are nothing more than a convenient illusion, one I need to be wary of—jungle trekking plus a diminishing supply of food means I’ll have to pay close attention to how much fuel I give my body.
“Phoenix has food in his pack, and a few fully charged Havenwaters, too,” he says, pushing aside a curtain of vines so we can pass. “Make sure you get some when you need it.”
A few Havenwater bottles! And fully charged? It’s a relief, and it isn’t. Who are these guys?
Past the vines, the jungle floor becomes a visibly steep incline. Cass unzips one of the small pockets at his hip and pulls out something that looks like a petite syringe. He plunges the tip into a nearby vine, but it’s hard to tell whether he’s injecting it with something or extracting something from it. Either way: very odd.
“This way,” he calls back to us, with a look that says we are exactly on track, an answer to all Lonan’s doubts about his map-keeping abilities.
A rocky path carves up the incline like a waterless riverbed made of smooth black stones. Thick vines snake up both sides of it for as far as I can see, intertwining and overgrown—but there are no actual snakes, as far as I can tell. Cass heads up first, climbing the rocks as if they were a steep staircase. He uses his pincushion vine as a railing.
“So, I’m assuming you’ve been here before?” I ask.
Lonan shakes his head. “Negative. But we know enough to know what we’re looking for.”
I can’t resist. It’s like he’s handed me an opening on a silver platter. “And that is . . . what, exactly?”
“Whatever path doesn’t try to kill us—that’s the one we want,” he says, his mouth quirking up. It’s hard to tell how many more layers there are to this baseline truth.
Cass continues the climb, followed by Finnley, then Phoenix. “After you,” Lonan says. Just in case you fall, he doesn’t have to add. I’m not sure if I’m flattered or insulted: I know the old etiquette rules, the ones that tell guys to put themselves between girls and danger. I go with flattered, because it reminds me of Dad. Sidewalks, escalators, you name it—nothing would get to me without going through him.
In a way, that hasn’t changed. His vial is at my front hip, and his field guide is tucked in at my lower back. Protected on both sides.
We climb up and up and up. It isn’t completely vertical, but it is steep, like we’re climbing a piece of earth that decided it would rather live with the clouds than under the tree canopy. I can’t tell from here if it actually pierces the canopy—the foliage thickens along our path about three-quarters of the way up the trees—but either way, we have a lot more climbing to do.
I risk a glance behind and below—not the best idea I’ve ever had. The height is dizzying, and there’s so much green everywhere; pulpy vine collects underneath my fingernails as I dig them in. I nearly choke on my own saliva—it’s hard to swallow—why can’t I swallow?—and my heartbeat pulses hard in my chest and in my head as I force my dry mouth to work the way I want it to.
“Phoenix, water!” Lonan shouts. His hand closes just above the back of my knee, steadying me. Even through the sweaty fabric of my pants, his unfamiliar touch is scorching. “Eden, look here—no, stop looking at the ground, look at me.”
I tear my eyes away from the infinitesimally small leaves on the jungle floor below us, focus instead on his clear blue eyes. They are like the shower I so desperately need, like the pool in my old backyard where I’ll never swim again. Like the water Phoenix tosses down to Lonan so I can flush away my anxiety.
A few sips are all it takes for the world to stop spinning.
“Better?” Lonan asks, taking the bottle from me and tossing it back up to Phoenix.
“Better,” I say. Heat rises in my cheeks. “Thank you.”
He nods. “Hate to be the one to tell you this, but we have to keep going. Think you can manage?”
He’s right—we are too far up to turn back now, so much higher than anything I’ve ever climbed. “Can’t afford not to manage,” I say. When I’m steady and sure again, I wipe my palms on my pants. The vine is slick enough with sweat from Cass, Finnley, and Phoenix without mine thrown into the mix. “Let’s do this.”
I concentrate on one step at a time, imagine there’s a giant pit of feathers to catch me if I fall. It’s me against the world—and if I can’t control the world, I can at least try my best to control myself.
“Careful coming through,” Cass says, reeling me back into this present moment, everything but his voice obscured by a thick wall of foliage. “The stones are pretty jagged at the transition, and it’s impossible for me to inoculate every plant, so try not to touch anything but the same vines we’ve been using.” Finnley disappears through the leaves, with Phoenix close behind her. It’s my turn next.
“Inoculate?” I ask, but either no one hears or no one wants to answer. My best guess is that it has to do with the way he violated the vines with his syringe earlier.
This makes my mind reel: they say they’ve never been here, yet Cass knows exactly what kind of antivenin will work on the plants, exactly which plants to use it on. Where did they get so much intel? Whoever gave it to them has definitely been here. But judging by how much they hate the Wolfpack, it makes me wonder who else might be so familiar with the island.
A shiver spreads through my entire body. The abandoned temple, the Wolfpack lasers—what if they were wiped out by someone even worse?
“You okay?” Lonan steadies me, his hand at my lower back. I’ve stopped moving, I realize.