His instincts screamed at him to act, to do something, but the shock rooted him in place. Images of Mimi’s terrified eyes and the monkey’s tiny hands tightening around her played over and over in his mind, each more haunting than the last.
Driven by pure desperation, Tom charged into the jungle after them. He knew it was reckless. Straying from marked paths was dangerous—especially in a dense, unfamiliar forest—but the idea of abandoning Mimi was unthinkable.
He barely heard the shouts from nearby tourists urging him to stop. The jungle swallowed the warnings, just as it had swallowed Mimi. Shadows lengthened around him, the thick canopy blotting out the sun as the trail behind him vanished.
Minutes passed like hours. The brush clawed at his arms and legs, sweat poured down his face, and a sinking feeling grew in his chest. I’ve lost them, he thought—until a faint, frightened mew rose in the distance.
“Mimi!” he gasped, hope reigniting like fire in his veins. Pushing forward, he ducked behind a moss-covered tree, his breath ragged. He peered through the tangled green ahead—and saw something entirely unexpected.
Nestled within the foliage was a small, crumbling structure, half-swallowed by the jungle.
It looked strangely out of place, a man-made relic in the heart of the wild. The building’s cement walls were cracked and discolored, vines creeping over every inch. It had the feel of a forgotten ruin—but something about it was off.
Then he saw movement. A monkey—not the one that had taken Mimi—was ambling toward the building. But instead of an animal or food in its hands, it carried a handbag.
Tom’s heart dropped.