Mara pressed her back against the cave wall, heart hammering. The ancient map had promised treasure commensurate with the danger of reaching it — and the danger, she now understood, had been vastly underestimated.
A jaguar paced the narrow ledge below, its spotted coat carrying a distinctive pattern she had never seen in any field guide. Three black rings circled each spot, almost like eyes watching her from every direction.
She shifted her weight and winced. During the climb, a loose rock had torn open her thigh, leaving a deep gash that had soaked through her cargo pants. She couldn't object to the pain — it was her own recklessness that had caused it — but she could push through it.
The jaguar paused and lifted its head.
Mara froze.
Slowly, deliberately, she inched along the wall toward the cave's inner chamber. She moved with such precision that not even her toe scraped the stone floor, each step placed with surgical care.
The jaguar growled low, then turned away, disappearing into the jungle below.
Mara exhaled and stumbled forward into the chamber. Golden artifacts lined the walls, glinting in the beam of her headlamp. She reached out and touched the nearest object — a small carved idol, cool and impossibly smooth against her fingers.
She had made it.
Outside, the jungle hummed with life, indifferent to her victory. She wrapped her leg tightly with a torn sleeve, lifted her pack, and began the long journey back toward daylight.