The tropical jungle at high noon was a stifling, humid greenhouse. While the torrential rains of the past few days had finally ceased, the moisture locked within the dense canopy was now evaporating under the pale sun, creating a thick, warm haze that clung to the skin.
For Zhou Yaya, however, the primary source of suffocation had absolutely nothing to do with the weather.
She walked exactly four meters behind her teammates, her shoulders slumped under the relatively light weight of Team A's dry gear bags. In any other survival scenario, Zhou Yaya was a bright, energetic presence—a talkative, humming bundle of cheer. But today, she was as quiet as a church mouse. She had to be. To speak, or even to step too close, felt like a direct violation of a highly localized magnetic field.
