Gregory was the best at what he did. Hands down. If nothing else, he’d survived the longest of anyone from his training class: six years in the field after the requisite decade of study.

He owed his life to that class, although the explorers’ journals, nature documentaries, yellowed notebooks, taxonomic charts, and preserved specimens—none as grand as anything in his own collection—could only teach so much.

The rest had to come from instinct. There was no other way to explain how to choose which ancient oak to wait under during the second full moon of the month, how to muffle oars enough to escape sensitive ears on a clear night in rough waters, how to tell when a melon with antlers was just ripe enough for picking. You just knew.

Or you didn’t.

Gregory had just returned from lecturing the current training class, still two years away from throwing themselves headfirst over land, into air, and under sea in their pursuits.

He could already pinpoint the ones who wouldn’t return from their first challenge.