Morning broke in cold shades of gray.
The forest outside was quiet, but Amira knew better than to believe it. Silence meant something was watching.
Inside the cabin, Gabriel stirred restlessly, his cheeks still pale, but he was breathing more steadily. Rosalie hadn't slept, dark circles rimmed her eyes as she sat cross-legged on the floor, sipping from a cracked thermos. Zion crouched near the map Lucia had spread out the night before, the fire casting flickering patterns across his tense face.
Amira moved to the window, peeled back the tarp just enough to peek outside. Her breath fogged the glass.
Lucia stepped beside her. "We're not safe here. One of Dominic's men survived the factory. He'll send them all."
"How much time do we have?" Amira asked.
"Not enough," Lucia replied. "But I have a
Plan.
Lucia proposes reaching a remote airstrip where a trusted smuggler can fly them out of the country but it's two days' hike through territory likely crawling with enemies.
Zion opposes it at first, not wanting to move Gabriel. A fierce argument ensues between him and Amira, exposing their conflicting desires: he wants to disappear, she wants justice.
Gabriel, groggy but lucid, pleads for them to stick together.
The group prepares for the trek, Rosalie repurposes broken tech into signal jammers; Amira loads their dwindling weapons.
That night, while others sleep, Zion finds Amira sitting alone at the fire pit outside. Their conversation drips with unresolved tension:
"You still don't trust me," he says quietly.
"I trust you more than anyone," she answers. "Which says a lot about how screwed up my life is."
They kiss, fierce, hungry, full of grief and need then pull away, wordless.
TA figure watched them through a scope from a distant ridge, radioing quietly, "They've regrouped. Awaiting orders."
And far away, in a luxurious office filled with Celeste's stolen paintings, a new villain lights a cigar and smiles. "Let them run. It makes the hunt more fun."