The hunter tilted its head and made a sound that translated in Mateo's chest more than in his ears. A pressure, an evaluation. The hunter raised its device, and the forest answered with the scream of something thrown hard against a tree. Mateo felt the hunger for breath tighten—his lungs working like bellows. He did not have the weapons to win. He had only the thing the forest had taught him: to make himself uninteresting.
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