Chapter 262

Evelyn Sinclair wanted nothing more than to escape this nightmare. Just as despair threatened to consume her, one of the towering tribesmen pointed directly at her.

His next gesture was unmistakable—he motioned toward the roaring fire, then to his mouth.

They intended to eat her.

Her blood ran cold. Trembling, she forced a strained smile at the man watching her.

"Sorry to disappoint," she muttered before scrambling to her feet.

She barely took two steps before tripping over scattered branches. The fever still clouded her mind, and the fall left her dazed.

Another tribesman approached the one wearing shoes, speaking rapidly in their guttural language.

Wait—shoes?

Mud-caked, but unmistakably modern.

La Sportiva.

A high-end Italian brand.

Her pulse spiked. With sudden strength, she lunged for his shoes.

The man didn’t budge.

Through the grime, she spotted the faint logo.

Her gaze snapped up.

His face was painted, but his eyes gleamed with amusement as he smirked at her.

Recognition struck like lightning.

"You're not—"

A rough hand yanked her backward, dragging her toward the flames.

"No! You can’t do this!" she shrieked, thrashing wildly.

The circle of tribesmen tightened, their torches casting eerie shadows.

They chanted, dancing around her as the heat intensified.

Every attempt to escape was met with flames thrust in her face.

Smoke filled her lungs.

The world blurred.

Then—laughter.

A distinctly modern, mocking chuckle.

Her head whipped toward the sound.

Those same bright eyes met hers.

Before she could react, strong hands lifted her—

And dropped her unceremoniously onto the hard ground.

Torches circled her.

The chanting grew louder.

She was trapped.

"Someone! HELP!"

The flames crept closer.