You scramble up the nearest tree, your fingers slipping on moss-slick bark until they find the frayed remnants of old security rigging—nylon straps, half-rusted carabiners, and metal footholds bolted deep into the trunk. Each creaking step takes you higher, through layers of humid air and buzzing insects, until you break through the canopy. From this precarious perch, you spot the evac pad glinting in the distance—your target. But you also see movement far below: something swift, silent, and predatory weaving through the undergrowth, circling.