As evening falls on the island, we gather around a driftwood fire. Zach tinkers with the boat's engine, muttering about missing parts. Marta paces along the shore, rifle slung over her shoulder. Elena rests her head on my lap, content for once.
I stroke her hair, heart heavy with complicated emotions—relief that we're not under immediate attack, fear about the uncertain future, and fierce love for the woman in my arms.
Then Marta calls out, voice sharp. "Boat on the horizon!" She passes me the binoculars. My blood runs cold as I spot a distant vessel cutting through the twilight, heading toward our cove. It could be salvation… or a new wave of pursuers. My stomach knots.
Elena sits up, eyes brimming with dread. "Vasquez?" she whispers. I have no answer. The ocean remains a stage for never-ending threats. Our fragile sanctuary shatters again, replaced by the familiar spike of terror.
We stand there, hearts pounding, as the boat draws closer. In the gathering darkness, we can't see its flag or markings. All we know is that we're not alone on this island anymore. WTF fate awaits us now?