The tension between the two Jagras packs remained, though the immediate threat of violence had passed. Morning approached, casting dim light through the thick jungle canopy, but the air was still thick with unease. The uninfected pack had accepted the wounded arrivals, yet suspicion lingered in every glance, every subtle shift in posture. Their Great Jagras stood firm, still watching, still waiting.The injured Great Jagras rested among its pack, yet something was wrong. Its breathing had steadied, but its body felt sluggish, unresponsive in ways it could not explain. When it blinked, there were moments—brief, almost imperceptible—where its vision lagged, as though looking through a haze. It should have been concerned. It wasn't. The thought drifted away before it could settle.Its packmates were more aware of the wrongness. The closest ones huddled nearby, shifting restlessly. Their low rumbles of concern were met with silence. When one tried to step forward, to nudge their leader, the Great Jagras barely acknowledged them. A flick of its tail. A slow exhale. Enough to make them hesitate. Doubt crept into their instincts. Perhaps they were imagining things. Perhaps exhaustion had made them paranoid.The uninfected pack was not so easily deceived. They had seen how new packs behaved, how a desperate group reacted when joining a stronger one. This was different. The injured pack was too quiet, too obedient. A few of the uninfected Jagras began testing them, moving closer, baring teeth in low, dominant growls. The response was delayed, uncertain. They did not snap back as they should have. The hesitation was unnatural.Above them, hidden in the canopy, the infected creatures remained still. Small figures clung to the branches, bodies unnaturally rigid. Their glassy eyes watched without blinking. Further beyond, among the dense foliage, larger shapes lurked—silent, unmoving, patient.The forest itself had changed. The morning air should have been filled with the calls of waking creatures, the stirring of unseen life. But the underbrush was too still. The distant cries of birds were isolated, scattered. The usual chattering of smaller beasts was absent. The silence pressed down like a living thing.One of the uninfected Jagras bristled, nostrils flaring. It turned to its leader, letting out a questioning growl. The Great Jagras remained still. It had sensed the same wrongness in the air, but it had no answer yet. The hesitation did not go unnoticed.Then, movement. A rustling above. The smallest creatures—normally timid, quick to flee—had begun shifting in the trees. Not scattering. Not escaping. Just... adjusting their positions. Watching more closely.The uninfected pack grew restless. They had accepted the wounded pack, but trust had not been given. Now, something unseen was pressing in, creeping closer without revealing itself. It was only a matter of time before the illusion of safety shattered.The injured Great Jagras felt none of this urgency. It should have. It knew it should. But the feeling would not come. Instead, it only knew the weight of its body, the sluggish pull of its limbs. When it opened its mouth, a low, unfamiliar growl rumbled from its throat. The sound was not its own.Another moment lost.The hunt would come soon. The infected were waiting.