As our plane descended, the dense forest developed texture, like a warm bumpy green knitted sweater. Beside me, Virgil gripped his leather-bound journal hard, leaving indentations and most likely fingerprints.
"Virgil," I said. "We've flown to the Amazon countless times--"
"I know!" His voice carried over a three row radius. "Don't tell me to get a grip. Or so help me, Kris!"
I turned to hide my grin.
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