Siena blinked. “What?”
The man in the polo shirt stood up. His smile vanished. “That’s not possible.”
Venandi didn’t speak unless necessary. When she did, it was clipped. “Dr. Vargas. Your sister, Mira. She was studying a rare fungal venom. Cyanopepta venandi .”
The jungle went silent. Not the peaceful hush of evening—the absolute, prey-animal silence of a predator in the vicinity.