EPILOGUE: NIGHT SOUNDS
SIX MONTHS LATER
Maya returned to the jungle.
Not the same one. Not the same country. But jungle all the same—thick and green and alive with the sound of things unseen.
She'd signed on as a bush pilot for a research team in Borneo. Flying supplies. Mapping canopy. Staying busy.
Staying out there.
Because the city had stopped making sense. The lights, the noise, the endless press of people who didn't know what lived beyond the glow.
Out here, she understood.
Out here, the rules were clear.
On her third night, camped on a ridge overlooking the river, Maya heard it.
Click.
She didn't move.
Didn't run.
Just sat by her fire and listened.
Click-click.
Closer now.
And then, at the edge of the firelight, she saw it.
Not fully. Just a shimmer. A heat-haze outline that suggested shape without revealing form.
Maya raised her hand. Slowly. Palm out.
"I see you," she said quietly.
The shape tilted its head.
And then—
Click.
Not a threat.
An answer.
The shape faded back into the dark.
And Maya sat alone by the fire, smiling, knowing she was never truly alone again.
Because some things watch.
Some things hunt.
And some things—if you're lucky, if you're worthy—
Some things remember.
THE END