Chapter 6
Chapter 6: The Jungle
The jungle swallowed him whole. One moment Jacob was descending a rocky slope from the badlands, the next he was pushing through curtains of hanging vines, each step sinking into damp soil that smelled of rot and life in equal measure. The air thickened, heavy with moisture, and the canopy above blotted out the sun until only green twilight remained. Sweat plastered his shirt to his skin within minutes, and the constant drone of insects pressed against his ears like a living wall.
He moved slowly, deliberately, one hand on the compass that still pointed east with unerring certainty. The badlands had left him shaken—the photograph, the crossed-out names, the impossible date. His own face stared back at him from memory, older, weathered, a stranger he was supposed to have been. But there was no time to dwell. The jungle demanded attention. Roots coiled across the path like serpents, and thorny branches reached for his arms, leaving thin red scratches. Strange calls echoed from the shadows—birds, perhaps, or something else—and twice he saw movement in the periphery that vanished when he turned.
Hours bled together. The terrain rose and fell, forcing him to climb slick embankments and wade through murky streams where the water brushed his ankles with cold, curious fingers. His mind wandered, conjuring faces in the dappled light, whispers just beyond hearing. He thought of the voice from the plains, the footsteps in the tower, the journal’s warning. Someone was watching. Someone had always been watching.
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