Something shifted.
Not a sound but a pressure.
The kind that presses against the back of your neck like a cold barrel before the shot ever comes.
Lara felt it before she understood it.
Her instincts flared—hot, sharp, alive.
Danger.
She didn't jerk. Didn't flinch.
That was how people died.
Instead, her fingers tightened slowly around the grips of the twin pistols strapped to her thighs. The metal felt warm against her palms. Familiar. Steady.
Her breathing slowed.
The jungle had gone too quiet.
No buzzing insects. No wind dragging through leaves.
Even the birds had decided to mind their business.
Then—
SNAP!
Twigs cracked under the heavy pressure of boots.
Not one pair but several.
Lara pivoted in one smooth motion, both pistols raised, arms locked, eyes cold and precise.
The bushes parted.
And she froze.
The man stepping out from behind the tree wasn't an enemy.
At least—not one she expected.
Ares.
