Consuelo slowly opened her hand, allowing the crumpled military map to hang from her fingers like a dead leaf. "The blood inside me was churning, Theodore. The spirits warned me that a storm was coming to Lihim... and that it wore the face of a man."
His face, which had been pale from the fever, now became a weird sickly gray. His eyes flickered once to the bare patch of mango tree trunk where the map had been pinned, confirming her discovery.
"This… this is nothing," he stammered, the cartographer facade cracking completely. "It's a rough draft. Old survey work. I was trying to—"
"'Old survey work' does not have the word ELIMINAR printed over the Datu's fort," she cut him off, her voice low and dangerously steady. "And it does not require a ship's log."
She pointed to the ground beside the low stool. The earth was freshly dug up in his haste, he had failed to bury the ship's log deeply enough. A corner of the dark leather was visible, peeking out from the dirt.
