Snow crunched under Luca’s boots as he stalked back toward the sleeping camp, knife in hand. The wind howled through the evergreens, masking his footsteps. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness; his heartbeat remained steady.

  Nandi was on watch. She sat quietly on a stump, scanning the perimeter with mechanical precision. Luca admired her—then raised his blowgun and fired. The dart hit her neck, a paralytic compound stolen from a German medkit in the staging area.

  She slumped without a sound.

  Sofia stirred. Luca slid behind her, whispering gently, “Nandi’s down. I saw movement. Stay still.” She nodded groggily and reached for her blade.

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  He turned, faced Min-Jae—and slit his throat.

  It was clean. Quick. The tech genius didn’t even gasp.

  Thiago bolted upright. Confused. Half-blind in the dark. “What—?”

  “Nandi turned on us!” Luca shouted. “Tried to kill Min-Jae!”

  Sofia leapt up, blade drawn. Thiago ran to Nandi’s body—found no wound, no blood. His eyes darted, realizing too late.

  But Luca was already on him.

  By dawn, only three remained.

  Sofia, rattled and unsure, clung to the false version of events. Thiago’s death had been “self-defense.” Nandi had “disappeared.”

  Luca offered to bury the bodies.

  He didn’t.

  He hung Min-Jae’s corpse upside-down from a branch with a message carved into his chest: “Trust no one.”