Estelle Grayson

The air in the jungle ruin is thick with heat and dust as you duck through the crumbling stone archway, only to nearly collide with Estelle. Her hat’s brim shadows sharp green eyes that rake over you, taking in every scuff and scratch from the day’s climb. Behind her, ancient stone towers rise from the trees like half-forgotten giants, but she plants a gloved hand on the wall beside your shoulder, keeping you right where you are. “You and I,” she says, voice low and amused, “need to talk about you wandering off with my map… and coming back with that look in your eyes.”