Where Naomi and the others faltered was at the river crossing. In the dark. Without flashlights—using them risked revealing their position.

They followed its course for a while, hoping to find a better crossing point or maybe a fallen tree forming a natural bridge.

No such luck. That would've made things too easy for intruders. There might've been spots shallow enough to swim across, but in the pitch-black night, it was impossible to tell. In the end, they had no choice but to take their chances.

The water here sounded calm, and the noise Juice, Tig and Kozik had stirred up was far off to their right.

"Let's try here," Naomi said.

She tucked the receiver—thankfully water-resistant—into her bag and stepped into the river. The cold water lapped at her calves as she did her best to ignore the thought of caimans lurking beneath the surface. Hopefully, they stayed clear of this stretch; the rebels probably hunted them relentlessly.

A splash signaled Happy stepping into the water behind her. He grabbed her forearm. "In case the current picks up," he said gruffly.

The water barely tugged at her legs, though that could change as they ventured deeper. A few meters ahead, a fallen log tangled with branches jutted into the water.

They waded carefully. Naomi could hear the tension in Happy's breathing. He was usually so composed, but the jungle had clearly rattled him. He was no adventurer—that much had become evident over the past few hours. And because Happy despised showing weakness, his mood had turned dark and brooding.

She wanted to crack a joke, to ease the tension, but she held her tongue; every word risked betraying their position.

In silence—broken only by muttered curses whenever one of them slipped—they moved deeper into the river. Naomi winced as her soaked clothes clung to her skin, knowing they wouldn't dry in this humid climate.

The current grew stronger, and soon she had to swim. She tried not to panic whenever something brushed her leg, bracing for the sharp bite of teeth. But every time, it was only debris.

Minutes later, they reached the opposite bank, dripping and exhausted. One obstacle down.

Naomi retrieved the receiver from her bag and checked the signal. The boys were 600 meters away—farther east than expected, likely having fled the camp.

"Almost there," she said.

"They're moving," Naomi noted after about ten minutes. "Heading away from the river."

"Maybe someone's chasing them," Happy replied, scanning the darkness through his night vision scope. His calm tone didn't betray any urgency, but she knew he was alert.

They picked up their pace, closing the distance quickly, though they paused frequently to listen for any signs of pursuit.

Forty meters away. The boys were still moving.

Navigating the dense foliage, they struggled to stay on course. The receiver's signal fluctuated, making it hard to pinpoint their exact location.

When they were within ten meters, Naomi decided to call out—

But it wasn't necessary. Moments later, she spotted three figures through the undergrowth. Her heart sank. Three. Had they failed to find Alec? Or had he refused to come? She'd known it was a possibility, but she hadn't wanted to believe it.

A sudden snap of a branch underfoot made one of the figures whirl around, raising a gun.

Naomi froze.

"Sack," Happy said, his voice steady.

The man lowered his weapon immediately. Naomi exhaled in relief and hurried forward.

As they drew closer, she saw it—a makeshift stretcher being carried between two of the men.

Her chest tightened. "Is that... a stretcher?"

Happy, seeing more clearly through his scope, grunted an affirmative.

Her stomach dropped. She broke into a run, only to stumble on a vine and fall hard. Scrambling back to her feet, she rushed toward the group.

When she saw their faces, her breath caught. Two identical faces. Her boys.

"Mom?" Foss's voice cracked as he spoke.

She threw her arms around him, holding him tightly as he began to sob.

But her gaze drifted to the stretcher, where Nash lay pale and motionless. She swallowed hard.

"Is he...?" She couldn't say the word.

"No," Foss said quietly. "But..."

Sack stepped forward and took the stretcher's handles.

"What happened?" Naomi asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Foss hesitated, glancing at his brother, who had turned away, silent. "An accident," he murmured.

But she caught the tension in his voice—the unspoken blame.

"There's a bullet in his back. The last thing he said was that he couldn't feel his legs."

Damn. Shit. That was really bad. "Did the bleeding stop quickly?"

"Yeah, it did. Alec's taking us to a village where there's a doctor."

Hopefully, it wasn't some backwater village stuck in the last century. They'd need a proper medevac helicopter. "How far is it?"

"At this pace?" Foss shrugged. "Hours."

Those words got everyone moving. Naomi hesitated for a moment before falling into step beside Alec. Her heart sank when she saw the stiff, distant expression on his face.

What could you even say after so much time? He probably resented her for only showing up now, after twenty years. That thought sent a dark wave of guilt crashing over her. If she hadn't been so determined to handle everything on her own—if she'd reached out to Happy earlier—they could've set this plan into motion years ago.

"I..." She bit her lip. "I'm so glad to see you again."

"We need to stay quiet if we don't want to draw attention." His gruff reply hit her like a slap.

Disappointment washed over her, and her shoulders slumped.

Later, she told herself, blinking back the tears stinging her eyes. Later, they'd have plenty of time to talk.

The trek to the village was agonizingly slow. They rotated carrying the stretcher, and when it started to rain, they used their dry clothing to cover Nash as best they could.

Finally, Alec spoke. "We're here."

The group emerged from the trees, and Naomi saw the village ahead—a cluster of wooden houses on stilts, their palm-thatched roofs silhouetted against the dim light of a few lanterns.

Foss and Happy carried Nash up the steps to one of the houses as Alec knocked sharply on the door. A brief exchange in Spanish followed, and the door opened to let them inside.

Naomi followed, her heart heavy as they laid Nash on a treatment table. The doctor inspected him, speaking to Alec in low tones. His grim expression didn't inspire much confidence.

"You should wait outside," Alec said, his voice clipped.

Foss shook his head. "I'm not leaving him."

"Let the doctor work," Naomi said softly, placing a hand on Foss's shoulder. "He needs space to do his job."

Reluctantly, Foss stepped away, and they moved to the next room, where they sank into chairs. A local woman offered them warm drinks, and Naomi accepted with a faint smile.

She looked around and realized Alec wasn't there. What was she supposed to do? Her other son needed her, too.

"Go," Foss said, as if sensing her unease. "There's nothing you can do for Nash right now."

Naomi turned the mug over in her hands. Foss was right—there was nothing she could do for him. She took the tea and headed downstairs.

The rain had stopped, but everything was still soaked. Across the muddy path, Alec was perched on a rain barrel. He kicked his heels against the wood, his eyes fixed on the ominous shadows of the jungle across the river—the place they'd just escaped.

She crossed the path and stood beside him. Her gaze followed his, scanning the dark silhouettes, trying to see what had captured his attention.

"Do you think they'll come after us?"

"I don't know." His eyes stayed locked on the distance. "Depends on whether my comrades keep their mouths shut."

His comrades. A sharp ache pierced her chest. He had a life here—a life she was trying to pull him away from, just as he'd been ripped from his last one.

"What was it like?" she asked carefully. "Seeing your brother out of the blue?"

He let out a short, disdainful snort—a sound so much like his father's it made her stomach twist.

"I'd just shot his friend."

She froze. "What?"

"It was dark. I saw strangers running from the camp, and I knew there were enemies. Those explosions could be heard for miles. What else was I supposed to do?"

"I... I thought Foss would explain everything to you first."

"I wasn't in the camp. I was on my way back from this village when the attack happened—or at least it looked like an attack."

It was a miracle they'd crossed paths at all—a miracle that had turned into a nightmare, with Nash now fighting for his life.

Alec kept staring into the shadows, as though he couldn't bring himself to look at her. What was going through his mind? She didn't even know how to ask—let alone whether she should.

"You must have so many questions." From the corner of her eye, she glanced at him. She wanted to hold him so badly now that he was finally here, finally close. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and never let go. But his stiff posture told her he wasn't ready for that. Not yet.

"I don't know." His voice was quiet. "I still need to process it all." He lowered his head, staring at his hands. "I was told my parents were killed because they were political enemies. All this time, I've been fighting for..." His lips pressed into a thin line. "My entire life is built on lies. And not just mine—probably everyone else's there, too."

Naomi moved her hand slightly toward his but stopped short of touching him. "That's a lot to take in. And I... I understand if you have a life here. If you don't want to leave. Just know that you're welcome with us. That I..." Her voice trembled. "That I've missed you so much. I was so afraid..." She took a deep breath to steady herself.

Alec shifted uncomfortably on the rain barrel, still silent.

Across the path, the village doctor's door opened. Foss stepped outside and made his way through the mud toward them. His shoulders sagged, and his expression said it all.

"The bullet's lodged in his spine," Foss said. "The doctor doesn't have the tools to remove it, so he's called for a medevac. It should be here in an hour."

A bullet in his spine. Naomi's chest clenched. Nash had said he couldn't feel his legs. Even if he survived, the chances were high that he'd spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair.

That boy—so full of energy, always chasing the next challenge, never able to sit still.

Her eyes blurred with tears, and she couldn't hold them back. If she could trade places with him, she would do it. She would've taken that bullet for him.

But life didn't work that way.

The people who caused others to suffer lived in luxury, their every desire fulfilled. The ones who sacrificed everything to help others bore unbearable losses.

Foss pulled her into a tight embrace, and she rested her head against his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I'm so, so sorry."

Her son's breath hitched. "I'm scared." His voice cracked, raw and vulnerable. "So fucking scared of losing him."

Naomi drew in a steadying breath. She had to say something—anything. She couldn't let silence be her answer.

"He's a fighter," she said firmly, because it was true. "He loves life. He'll do everything he can to hold on to it."