Yvette lifted her chin slightly, a relaxed expression on her refined face. Her eyes, clear and cool like a still lake, betrayed no emotion; she seemed utterly unhurried. This unnerved the others. Mr. Chavez's fate hung in the balance in the jungle—how could she be so unconcerned?

Bruce and the others couldn't fathom Yvette's composure. If she weren't in a hurry, they reasoned, she wouldn't have flown from home to Mysonna in under five hours, without a moment's delay. Yet, her current attitude suggested a complete disregard for Mr. Chavez's well-being.

Yvette's eyelids flickered open, giving them a long, serious look. "Get these things ready," she said calmly, "and we leave early tomorrow morning."

Bruce firmly objected. "No way," he insisted. "We can't afford any more delays. Ms. Zeller, we know you're concerned about Mr. Chavez, but it's too dangerous for a woman to accompany us to the rainforest. If something happens, we can't protect you. If anything were to happen to you, the three of us couldn't explain it to Mr. Chavez. Please stay at the hotel. We'll set off once we're ready." Frankie and Chris nodded; Emmett remained silent. Yvette showed no reaction.

Assuming she agreed, Bruce left without further comment.

Yvette curled her legs, rhythmically tapping the sofa armrest. A cold glint appeared in her previously calm brown eyes, their depths unreadable. Anyone familiar with Yvette would recognize this mood. "Let's have a fight," she said abruptly. "If I win, you three listen to me. If I lose, I'll stay at the hotel."

Frankie chuckled, a cheeky grin on his face. "Ms. Zeller, do you know what these guys do? Bruce is a three-time Mysonna free sparring champion. Chris is a master of ancient combat, trained with Mr. Chavez in the military for years. And me? I've been learning taekwondo since childhood. If we fight, and you get hurt, Mr. Chavez will kill us. Let's forget it."

Bruce earnestly agreed. Although usually laid-back, Frankie was right. They knew Yvette was the first woman Mr. Chavez had shown interest in for thirty years; she might even be the future matriarch. Regardless, they couldn't lay a finger on her. Fighting a woman was unthinkable.

Before they could refuse, Yvette moved. A blur of motion brought her before them. Chris, an ancient combat artist himself, instinctively retreated. Bruce and Frankie followed suit. Yvette launched a swift, powerful leg sweep, forcing them back further.

Her skill commanded their attention. Bruce was surprised; Frankie was eager to spar, rubbing his hands excitedly. But Chris held him back.

"Why?" Frankie asked, "I won't hurt Ms. Zeller."

"Just stay put," Chris replied curtly.

Frankie was stunned; Chris never joked. Chris's expression grew serious, his brows furrowed. "Are you an ancient combat artist?" he asked Yvette.

Frankie stared in disbelief. Even the usually composed Bruce was shocked. The term wasn't used lightly; if Chris said it, it was true.

Yvette's eyes were half-closed, her gaze chilling. "Yes," she hummed, her lips barely parting.

Chris motioned for Bruce and Frankie to stand aside. Ancient combat artists were in a different league. Yvette's earlier display suggested considerable skill.

Bruce and Frankie obeyed, understanding the gravity of the situation. Chris performed a traditional fist salute. "Ms. Zeller, please." His eyes burned with determination. Yvette moved first; Chris countered with his best skills. Their movements were too fast for Bruce and Frankie to follow.

A cracking sound punctuated the silence. Chris lay on the ground, gasping. Yvette remained unmoved, her clothes pristine.

An eerie silence descended. Frankie couldn't believe Chris had been so easily defeated. He had a new idol. Bruce was deep in thought; his earlier concerns seemed to vanish. Only Emmett showed no surprise; he'd recognized Yvette's skill from her first move, though her hidden depth surprised even him.

Chris rose, admiration in his eyes. "I admit defeat," he said. "Mr. Chavez has excellent judgment. How can someone her age possess such skill? I'm thoroughly impressed."

Yvette raised an eyebrow. "Any objections? If not, prepare the gear. We leave at six tomorrow morning."

They all nodded, their attitudes transformed. Emmett volunteered to prepare everything. Yvette picked up her backpack and left.

Noticing her departure, Emmett spoke quickly. "Ms. Zeller, you should take this suite. We'll find another hotel." The others agreed silently.

Yvette paused. "No need. I've reserved room 520. I'll meet you downstairs."

The door clicked shut. Emmett's voice was stiff. "520 is the presidential suite."