Through thick, verdant foliage and murky waterways, the group of four had been making their way back to the underground city. They had commandeered a small boat, the engine's soft putter barely audible over the hum of insects and the distant sounds of wildlife. The only light came from the glint of the setting sun filtering through the trees and reflecting off the water's surface.
Rylie, at the helm, was steering the boat, her face tense with concentration.
Meredith, keeping a lookout, held one hand above her brow as she squinted into the dimming light. Salazar, despite his usual stoicism, looked visibly shaken, probably ruminating on their recent ordeal. Garza sat quietly, his sharp eyes scanning the banks for signs of danger or a possible route back.
"I can't believe we're lost," Salazar grumbled, the boat rocking gently as he shifted.
"We're not lost," Rylie retorted, voice firm. "Just... temporarily disoriented."
