Kaya looked at him, but instead of answering, she asked another question. "Why did you bring me here?"
She didn't see any reason for this stranger to have brought her along—without knowing anything about her origin, where she came from, or whether she might be dangerous. It felt reckless, almost careless.
The cutie blinked at her, confusion flickering in his eyes, as if she'd spoken in an unfamiliar language. "Um… what?"
Kaya's voice was flat. "It's not like I've done anything big enough for you to bring me here. You don't even know my name. Or who I am."
He looked at her, calm and steady. "And why does that matter?"
Kaya stared back, bewildered by his casual tone.
"Even if you hadn't saved me," he said, unusually direct, "I still would have brought you here. Besides, you're not a bad person."
The words caught her off guard. She froze for a moment—no one had ever said anything like that to her before. Then she turned away, a smirk tugging at her lips. "What do you even know about me?" Her voice softened slightly, a fragile hint of vulnerability slipping through.
Before she could say more, he interrupted gently. "I know."
That made Kaya stop in her tracks, eyes wide. He met her gaze again and continued with quiet certainty, "I can tell just by looking at you—you're not a bad person."
....
"Huh! Are you fucking crazy, you idiotic rabbit?"
The little sparrow, sitting just off to the side, watching all this nonsense and hearing the chaos, felt like he'd landed right in the middle of a trash dumpster.
So cringy.
Just a moment ago, this woman was plotting a full-on gourmet disaster for him—thinking of every possible way to cook him alive and eat him like he was some rare delicacy. Yeah, him—a godsend, beautiful, brilliant, angel-level legend.
Now?
Now she's suddenly acting like some damsel who's just been dropped into the world's biggest pity party, like she's carrying all the pain of the universe on her shoulders.
The irony is so thick, you'd think she's about to break out a violin and start sobbing—when just minutes ago she was ready to serve him up with a side of vengeance.
Talk about mood swings!
Ugh.
So disgusting.
Kaya suddenly turned to look at him.
Her expression didn't shift much—but her cheek twitched. Just slightly.
She hadn't heard what the Sparrow said, not really.
But the way her eyes narrowed?
Yeah. She knew.
That feather-brained idiot had definitely said something foul about her.
She didn't say a word.
Just moved her lips slowly. Deliberately.
But if you looked close enough, you could read the shape forming.
"Wanna die?"
And just like that, the Sparrow's soul left his body.
His mouth snapped shut like a trap, and suddenly, he became very interested in the nearby moss, a tree root, the wind—anything except her.
Pretending like he hadn't just run his beak two seconds ago.
Coward.
Next to him, the Snake stayed silent. Calm. Too calm.
His eyes were fixed on her, not with curiosity—but calculation. Like he was measuring something.
Something that didn't add up.
She looked human enough. Female. Beautiful, even. Unreasonably so.
But something was wrong.
For one—she didn't smell.
And he didn't mean she smelled bad. No, that would've been easy.
She smelled like nothing. No pheromones, no warmth, not even the earthy sweat of someone who's been running through a forest like a madwoman.
Nothing. Just blank space.
Even chimps had a scent, and he'd been around plenty. But this woman? It was like sniffing a mirage.
And that wasn't the only oddity.
She moved through this dense, night-soaked forest with no hesitation.
No light vision. No guidance. No backup.
Just her, like the forest itself dared not get in her way.
He had just been at the scene earlier.
There was blood—sure. But none of it was hers. None of it even felt connected to her.
There was no male nearby. No broken twigs, no lingering heat in the air, no scent trail.
Nothing.
It made no sense.
If she belonged to the vulture prince, why wasn't he here losing his mind?
His kind treated their women like sacred relics—if one of them even sneezed wrong, half the tribe would gather with herbs and weapons.
So why would they just… leave her?
That time—when it all started—he had been hiding in a nearby burrow, buried just beneath the soft, damp forest soil.
The air had been thick with blood. Not the sharp, metallic scent of prey. No, this was something different. Potent. Regal.
Vulture prince.
His blood had a particular signature—like iron soaked in pride and arrogance. You didn't forget it once you smelled it.
So when it hit his nose that day, he knew instantly. The prince had been there. The prince had bled there.
But now…
Now, standing just feet from this strange female—this soft-faced, sharp-eyed, nonchalantly terrifying woman—he couldn't pick up a single trace of that same scent on her.
No pheromones. No blood link. Nothing to suggest she belonged to the vulture prince or was even touched by him.
And as much as he hated to admit it, this female was captivating.
Beautiful, yes—but not in a delicate way.
Her hand had touched him earlier.
Soft on the outside, yes. But inside?
Firm. Solid. Like she'd been lifting weight since childhood.
No pampering. No ceremonial softness.
No female in any tribe was allowed to do that kind of work.
Who was she?
Her clothes were odd, too. They covered her completely, yet weren't meant for concealment.
Not tribal. Not natural. Not anything he had seen before.
The more he watched her, the more questions coiled in his gut like something alive.
Why was she here?
How was she alone?
And more importantly…
What the hell was she?