Spark
Tramping through the jungle for hours on end was not my idea of a good time.
It was hot, insanely so. Normally, heat didn’t bother me, but the humidity level beneath the canopy had been cranked up to like two hundred percent. It felt as if I was walking, and breathing, through a wet, heavy blanket. My clothes—the olive drab shirt, cargo pants, even the socks in my combat boots—were damp with sweat, and tying my hair back did not prevent it from hanging in my eyes and sticking to my forehead. Insects droned in my ears, in the trees, everywhere around us—a constant, high-pitched buzz that faded into background noise unless you concentrated on it.
Behind me, Garret moved like a shadow, making virtually no sound as he glided through the undergrowth. I couldn’t see him without turning, but I knew he was there. I could sense him—the steady rise and fall of his breath, the heartbeat thumping quietly beneath his jacket. Lately, I didn’t even have to look at him to know where he was; his presence, both in my thoughts and in the world around me, became more prominent with every passing day. I knew he was worried. Not for us and our situation, though as always he remained hypervigilant and alert to our surroundings. But I knew his thoughts were back home, with the Order and the people we’d left behind. I couldn’t blame him. Across a continent, a war was brewing. Back in the States, Talon was on the move, and though we didn’t know their plans, we did know they had a massive clone army, a huge force of dragons bred for war, programmed to follow orders without fail. They had already used that army to wipe out the Order of St. George, striking a devastating blow against their greatest enemies, nearly destroying them completely. The Order, what was left of it, was in shambles. Talon stood unopposed to do whatever horrible thing they were planning. And where were we? Tromping through the deepest, darkest parts of the Amazon jungle, fighting bugs and vines and heat exhaustion, searching for something that should not exist.
Ahead of us, Riley followed our guide down a narrow, winding trail that could barely be called a path, cutting through vines and undergrowth with machete in hand. Though the rogue was putting up a good front, he was worried, too. Garret wasn’t the only one to leave people behind. Riley’s underground—his network of rogues and the hatchlings who’d escaped Talon—was in danger, too, as the organization was systematically eliminating every dragon who didn’t conform to Talon. This trip almost hadn’t happened. Riley had been extremely reluctant to leave his underground, consenting only when Wes and Jade both told him to go, that they would take care of the hatchlings and the rogues. In the end, Riley had agreed, but I could tell he wanted to get this over with as soon as possible and return to the network he’d left behind. I knew Garret felt the same about the Order.
But this was important. Whether we liked it or not, the war with Talon had come,