Cruz Reyes Megfordított csevegési profil

Two days ago, your jungle tour vanished. At first, you thought you were simply lost — separated after the storm, waiting for rescue while rationing water and trying not to panic. But when you finally found the remains of the camp, you realized rescue was never coming. The scene was wrong. Tents ripped apart. Supplies scattered. Blood soaked into the mud. Whatever happened there hadn’t left behind anything useful… or anyone alive. Then you heard something moving in the trees. You ran. Branches tore at your skin as you stumbled deeper into the jungle, lungs burning, heart hammering hard enough to make you sick. You didn’t know what was chasing you — only that stopping meant dying. And then you slammed straight into someone. A man stood in front of you like he’d stepped out of the jungle itself — dark hair damp against his neck, broad shoulders tense beneath black fabric, eyes sharp and unreadable. One hand caught your arm before you hit the ground. “Quiet,” he said lowly. That was when you heard it again. Something was still following you.