Shadow Over the Amazon

The cantina clung to the edge of the world, a ramshackle collection of sun-bleached wood and corrugated tin, seemingly held together by dust and the sheer stubbornness of its owner. Inside, the air was thick with the smells of stale beer, cheap tequila, and the ever-present humidity of the nearby jungle. A single, flickering fluorescent tube cast a sickly yellow light over the handful of patrons, their faces etched with the stories of a life lived on the fringes.

Izzy sat nursing a lukewarm beer, her back to the wall, eyes constantly scanning the room. She'd chosen this cantina for its anonymity, a place where questions were rarely asked and strangers blended into the background. The map, now safely tucked away in a waterproof pouch beneath her shirt, felt like a burning weight against her skin. She needed a guide, someone who knew the jungle like the back of their hand, someone who wouldn't flinch at the mention of ancient legends or phantom cities. She needed Marco.

The batwing doors swung open, admitting a blast of humid air and a man who looked like he'd been carved from the very jungle itself. Marco. He was lean and wiry, with sun-bronzed skin stretched taut over sharp cheekbones and eyes that seemed to absorb the dim light, reflecting nothing back. He wore faded khaki pants, a worn leather vest, and a machete strapped to his hip that looked more like an extension of his arm than a weapon.

He moved with a quiet grace, a predator navigating his territory. He spotted Izzy instantly, his gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that made her shift uncomfortably. He approached her table, not exactly inviting, but not hostile either. More… wary.

"Isabella Rossi," he stated, his voice a low rumble, accented but clear. It wasn't a question.

Izzy nodded, offering a tight smile. "Marco. Thanks for meeting me."

He didn't return the smile. Instead, he pulled up a rickety chair opposite her, the wood groaning under his weight. He didn't order a drink. "You said it was urgent."

"It is," Izzy confirmed, leaning forward slightly, lowering her voice. "I need your help. I need the best guide in this region, someone who knows the *uncharted* areas. Someone who isn't afraid of… legends."

Marco's eyes narrowed, a flicker of something unreadable passing across them. "Legends are for children and fools. I deal in realities. Water levels, animal trails, the best way to avoid losing a limb to a bushmaster."

Izzy took a slow breath, choosing her words carefully. "This legend is tied to a reality. A place. A city, lost for centuries." She hesitated, gauging his reaction. "The City of the Serpent God."

A muscle twitched in Marco's jaw. He leaned back, his silence more telling than any words. A couple of patrons at the bar, their faces blurred by the gloom, glanced their way, then quickly looked away. The air crackled with unspoken tension.

"That name is not spoken here," Marco said finally, his voice barely a whisper. "Not by outsiders."

"I'm not an outsider," Izzy countered, her voice firm. "My father… he dedicated his life to finding this place. He left me the key." She touched the pouch beneath her shirt. "A map. Detailed instructions. I know it's real."

Marco studied her, his gaze piercing. "And what makes you think I'd risk my neck for a fairy tale? Or for you?"

"Because it's more than a fairy tale," Izzy insisted. "It's history. And it's… valuable. I'm willing to pay. Handsomely." She named a figure, significantly higher than the going rate for any expedition.

Marco didn't react to the sum, his expression unchanging. "Money is no good if you're dead."

"I'm not asking you to walk blindly into danger," Izzy said, her voice softening slightly. "I've studied my father's research. I know the terrain, the potential threats. I just need someone who knows the jungle's secrets, the hidden paths, the things that aren't on any map." She met his gaze, her own unwavering. "I need your expertise. Your instincts."

A long silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the buzzing of flies and the distant chatter from the bar. Marco finally broke the silence, his voice devoid of any warmth.

"My grandfather warned me about people like you," he said, his words slow and deliberate. "He said the jungle protects its secrets. That those who seek them out often find only death."

"I'm not looking to plunder," Izzy said quickly. "I'm looking to… understand. To complete my father's work."

Marco remained unconvinced. "The jungle doesn't care about your father's work. It cares about survival." He paused, then added, "And there are others who seek this city. Others who are not so… sentimental."

Izzy knew he was referring to Vargas, though he hadn't mentioned him by name. The knowledge of his pursuit added another layer of urgency to her mission.

"I'm aware of the risks," Izzy said, meeting his gaze squarely. "All of them. But I'm not turning back."

Marco considered her for another long moment, his eyes searching, assessing. Finally, he gave a curt nod.

"Alright, Isabella Rossi," he said, his voice still laced with suspicion. "I'll guide you. But I have conditions."

Izzy let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "Name them."

"We travel my way," Marco stated. "My pace. You listen to me, you do what I say, no questions. And if I say we turn back, we turn back. No arguments."

"Agreed," Izzy said without hesitation.

"And," Marco added, his eyes hardening, "if I find out you've lied to me, about anything… the deal is off. And you'll be on your own."

"I understand," Izzy said, meeting his challenging gaze. She wouldn't lie. She couldn't afford to.

Marco stood up, his chair scraping against the rough floor. "We leave at dawn. Be ready." He turned and walked towards the exit, his movements fluid and silent.

Izzy watched him go, a mixture of relief and apprehension swirling within her. She had her guide. But the journey had just begun, and the jungle, she knew, held far more dangers than she could possibly imagine. She paid the bill and stood up, ready to get some rest.