Ten feet.
That was the distance Isabella had forced them to maintain from her.
Ophelia, Shelia, and Asael trailed behind like a silent, anxious support group, watching Isabella stomp into the wilderness with the determination of a woman on a mission.
She had zero experience in hunting, gathering, or even surviving in the wild, but what she did have was instincts, a healthy level of paranoia, and a lifetime of beauty product knowledge that she was about to apply in the most ridiculous way possible.
The first potential hazard appeared sooner than expected.
Isabella spotted a plump, deep-red fruit dangling innocently from a low-hanging branch. She narrowed her eyes.
She knew this one. She has seen many like it yesterday.
It was the wild equivalent of a landmine—press too hard, and boom! Face full of fruit guts.
She crouched low, rolling her shoulders like she was in an action movie.
Then, without hesitation—she ducked.
SPLAT!
