「 ✦ THE ISLAND ✦ 」

────

THE DAYS DRAGGED on in an endless cycle of survival. The Pogues had made the best of their situation, constructing a sturdier shelter, scavenging food, and adjusting to the island's harsh realities. MJ threw herself into the routine with relentless determination. Anything to keep her mind from spiralling back to him—Rafe Cameron.

The memories of that night on the ship haunted her. The gunshots. The chaos. The way he looked at her as though he was trying to decide whether to save her or let her drown. Every time she thought about it, a lump formed in her throat, and she felt the sting of betrayal all over again.

The fire crackled as the group sat in a circle that night, their laughter subdued but present. Pope was retelling the story of how he and Cleo managed to swipe food off a supply boat a few days ago, and the group chuckled at his animated retelling. Even MJ managed a small smile.

"Man, I just want a real burger," JJ groaned, poking at the fire with a stick. "Like, a greasy, loaded burger with fries. And a milkshake."

"I would sell my soul for pizza," Cleo added, earning nods from the others.

"Pope would probably sell him for a library card," JJ teased, earning a soft shove from his friend.

MJ sat apart from the group, hugging her knees as the flames danced in her eyes. She wanted to join in, but the ache in her chest had grown unbearable. She hated that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't escape the whirlwind of emotions inside her. She felt JJ's eyes on her and tried to look busy, but he wasn't buying it.

"You okay, MJ?" he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

She shrugged, not looking at him. "Just tired."

"You've been 'just tired' for weeks now," he said.

"Drop it, JJ," she snapped, but her voice cracked, betraying her.

JJ leaned forward, concern etched on his face. "You can talk to me, you know. Whatever it is."

"It's nothing," she insisted, her voice sharp, but her trembling hands gave her away.

"Doesn't look like nothing," JJ said gently.

Suddenly, the dam broke. Tears welled in her eyes, and her voice quivered with anger and grief. "It's him, JJ. It's Rafe. He did this to us."

The others went silent, their laughter dying down as MJ's outburst drew their attention.

"He shot at us, he tried to kill us, and he didn't care—about any of us!" she continued, her voice rising. "And the worst part is, I still..." Her voice faltered, and she buried her face in her hands.

"You still what?" JJ pressed, though his tone was softer now.

"I still care about him," she admitted in a broken whisper, her tears falling freely now. "I hate him for what he did, but I can't just turn it off, JJ. He's... he's not all bad. I know he's not. I've seen it. And that makes it worse because it means he chose this. He chose to hurt us."

JJ shifted closer to her, his anger at Rafe momentarily overshadowed by his concern for his sister. "MJ," he said quietly, "you're allowed to feel messed up about it. He messed you up. He messed all of us up."

"He didn't mess me up," Sarah interjected, her voice trembling as she joined the conversation. "I just cut him off. He's gone to me. Maybe you should do the same, MJ."

"That's easy for you to say," MJ shot back, wiping her tears. "You don't understand."

"Don't I?" Sarah's voice cracked. "He's my brother. He hurt me, too."

"Enough," John B said firmly, putting a hand on Sarah's shoulder. "This isn't helping."

JJ reached out and pulled MJ into his side, ignoring the way she tried to pull away. "You don't have to figure it all out right now," he said. "Just stick with us, okay? We'll get through this. Together."

MJ nodded, her face buried against his shoulder as the others exchanged solemn looks. The fire crackled in the silence, but the tension lingered in the air.

As the group settled back into uneasy quiet, MJ stared into the flames. She wasn't sure if she could ever forgive Rafe for what he'd done. But what scared her more was the tiny, flickering hope that maybe, just maybe, he could still be saved.

────

The following morning, the sun rose bright and unrelenting, casting a golden glow over the deserted island. MJ sat on a rock by the shore, arms crossed and a scowl firmly in place as JJ sharpened the tip of a makeshift spear. The sound of waves crashing against the rocks filled the silence between them.

"Alright, MJ," JJ said, holding up the spear like it was Excalibur. "Time to teach you how to spear fish. You're about to witness greatness in action."

MJ raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Oh, lucky me. I get to learn from the self-proclaimed king of stabbing things underwater. Truly an honour."

JJ rolled his eyes but smirked. "Listen, smartass, this is survival 101. You wanna eat? You gotta work for it."

"I already worked for it," she shot back. "I found that stash of coconuts yesterday, remember? You're welcome."

"Yeah, well, coconuts don't count as protein," JJ quipped, tossing the spear to her. She caught it easily, though the glare she shot him was sharp enough to cut glass.

"Fine. Show me how to stab something," MJ said, hopping off the rock and twirling the spear like it was a baton. "But don't cry when I'm better at this than you."

JJ snorted. "You? Better than me? You've never even held a spear before, M. Don't get cocky."

"Please," MJ scoffed, wading into the shallows. "How hard can it be? It's just a pointy stick and some fish with no survival instincts."

"Uh-huh," JJ said, following her into the water. "Let's see how long that confidence lasts when you miss your first ten tries."

MJ squinted down into the water, her reflection rippling as fish darted beneath the surface. She raised the spear, aiming carefully. "Watch and learn, JJ. This is how it's done."

She plunged the spear into the water with a triumphant yell... and missed completely. The fish scattered, leaving her standing in the waist-deep water with nothing to show for it.

JJ doubled over laughing, slapping his knee. "Oh yeah, you're a natural, MJ. Fish everywhere are shaking in their fins."

MJ scowled, flicking water at him. "Shut up! I wasn't even trying that hard."

"Sure, sure," JJ said, still chuckling. "You'll get it eventually, champ. Maybe in, like, a decade."

"I hate you," she grumbled, though there was a small, begrudging smile tugging at her lips.

"Love you too, sis," he said with a grin, handing her the spear again. "Now focus. You gotta wait for the fish to come to you. Be patient. Don't just jab it like a psycho."

"Patience isn't exactly my strong suit," MJ muttered, but she tried again, this time keeping still as the fish slowly drifted back toward them.

JJ watched her, the usual teasing glint in his eyes softening. "You're doing good, M," he said after a moment. "For real. You've been through a lot, but you're still here. That's what matters."

MJ glanced at him, her grip on the spear tightening. She didn't know how to respond to that, so she deflected in the only way she knew how—with sarcasm.

"Wow, JJ, getting all sentimental on me?" she said, smirking. "What's next? You gonna start crying?"

JJ rolled his eyes. "Don't push it, MJ."

She laughed, the sound light and genuine, as she focused back on the water. And this time, when she thrust the spear down, she felt resistance.

"Got one!" she yelled triumphantly, lifting the spear to reveal a wriggling fish impaled on the tip.

JJ whooped, clapping his hands. "That's my girl! See? Told you I was a great teacher."

"Yeah, yeah," MJ said, grinning despite herself. "But I think I'll take the credit for this one. Clearly, I'm a natural."

"Clearly," JJ said with a grin, ruffling her hair as she swatted him away.

For the first time in weeks, MJ felt a spark of pride and normalcy. Maybe being stuck on this island wasn't the end of the world. At least she still had her brother, annoying as he was.

"JJ," she said, her voice sharp.

"What?" he replied, squinting at her.

She pointed toward the sky, where a small plane was flying in the distance, just barely visible against the vast expanse of blue.

"A plane!" MJ yelled, her heart racing. "Do you see it?!"

JJ's head snapped up, and his eyes widened. "Holy crap. I see it!"

Without another word, the twins bolted toward the shore, their bare feet kicking up sand as they ran as fast as they could.

"HEY!" MJ screamed at the top of her lungs, waving her arms frantically. "WE'RE DOWN HERE!"

JJ joined in, his voice carrying over the roar of the ocean. "HELP! DOWN HERE!"

The plane kept flying, its trajectory steady, but it didn't seem to waver or turn toward the island.

"They're not looking this way!" MJ shouted, panic creeping into her voice.

"Keep trying!" JJ yelled, grabbing a stick and lighting it from the smouldering remains of their fire. He waved it wildly in the air, smoke trailing behind him. "We've got to make them see us!"

MJ grabbed a larger piece of driftwood, dragging it across the sand to spell out "HELP" in massive letters, her movements frantic. "Come on, come on, notice us, dammit!" she muttered under her breath, her frustration bubbling over.

The plane continued on its path, shrinking as it moved farther away.

"No, no, no, don't you dare keep going," MJ growled, dropping the driftwood and cupping her hands around her mouth. "HEY! LOOK DOWN, YOU IDIOTS!"

JJ joined her again, waving the smoking stick with one hand and jumping up and down like a maniac. "COME ON! WE'RE RIGHT HERE!"

But the plane didn't change course. It grew smaller and smaller until it was just a speck against the sky, and then it was gone.

MJ stopped, her chest heaving as she stared at the empty horizon. Her arms fell to her sides, the adrenaline draining from her body.

"Are you kidding me?" she muttered, her voice cracking. She turned to JJ, her face a mix of anger and despair. "They didn't even look! They didn't see us!"

JJ ran a hand through his messy blond hair, still breathing hard. "They were too high up. Probably couldn't even hear us."

"Great," MJ snapped, throwing her hands up. "Just great. Another shot at getting out of here, and we blew it!"

"Oh my god, are you kidding me right now?" MJ blurted, her voice dripping with disbelief as the plane circled back and slowly descended to the makeshift clearing on the beach. She shaded her eyes with one hand, squinting as the tiny aircraft touched down. "This guy actually landed. Guess today's the day pigs fly too."

JJ smirked, shaking his head. "Don't get too excited, MJ. Knowing our luck, this dude's probably got an even bigger problem than we do."

"A bigger problem than being stranded on a deserted island? Bold assumption," she shot back, raising a brow.

The group of six cautiously approached the man as he stepped out of the plane. JJ stayed a step behind the others, eyeing the stranger suspiciously. MJ, never one to hold back, crossed her arms and gave the man a once-over.

"Seven people in that tin can? Seems legit," MJ muttered under her breath, loud enough for JJ to hear.

The man grinned, seemingly unfazed by her skepticism. "Need a ride off this rock?" he asked, gesturing to the small plane.

"What were you doing out here, anyway?" JJ questioned, his tone sharp as he and MJ exchanged a knowing glance.

"Got a little guide outfit in Saint Vincent," the man replied casually, adjusting his cap. "I was spotting fish."

"What were you spotting?" JJ pressed, his suspicion growing.

"Oh, you know," the man said with a shrug, "wahoo."

MJ snorted, glancing at JJ. "Wahoo? In September? Sure, buddy. That tracks."

JJ smirked, lowering his voice as he leaned closer to MJ. "Guy's full of it."

The man climbed back into the cockpit. "Hang onto something. Gets a little spicy on takeoff," he announced.

MJ rolled her eyes but grabbed JJ's arm as the plane jolted into motion. The takeoff was rough, just as the man had warned. MJ clung tightly to her brother's bicep, muttering under her breath, "Spicy doesn't even begin to cover it."

As the plane levelled out, the group huddled closer together. The noise of the engine gave them the perfect cover for a whispered conversation.

"Wahoo don't run in September. Ever," JJ said firmly. "Whoever this guy is, he's not a fisherman."

"You sure about that?" Pope asked, though his tone lacked conviction.

"In the Caribbean? Yeah, I'm sure," JJ replied, his brows furrowed.

Sarah's eyes widened as realization dawned. "I know what this is," she said softly, glancing nervously at the others. "He's working for my dad—or Ward, at least. He's probably been looking for us this whole time."

MJ's stomach twisted at Sarah's words, but her snark was still intact. "Of course. Because nothing screams 'low profile' like sending a sketchy fisherman in a janky plane to find us."

The group exchanged uneasy looks. JJ leaned toward John B, nodding toward the man's bag. "We gotta know for sure. JB, distract him."

John B raised a brow but didn't argue. While he engaged the pilot in awkward small talk, JJ carefully rummaged through the man's bag, with MJ peering over his shoulder.

"Find anything?" MJ whispered, her tone half-annoyed, half-anxious.

"Not yet," JJ muttered, his hands moving quickly. Just as he uncovered a set of documents, the man turned around.

"Hey!" the pilot barked, lunging for JJ.

Chaos erupted in the small cabin. The plane jerked violently as the man fought to regain control.

"Fly the plane!" Sarah screamed, her voice almost drowned out by the engine's roar.

The plane began to descend rapidly. MJ clung to JJ, her knuckles white as she gripped his arm.

"Great plan, JJ!" MJ shouted over the chaos. "Remind me to never let you handle recon again!"

JJ gritted his teeth, holding onto his sister as the plane spiralled downward. "Not the time, MJ!"

They braced for impact, their hearts pounding as the ground rushed toward them. MJ's snarky façade cracked just slightly, her grip on JJ tightening. Despite her fear, she couldn't resist one last quip.

"If we survive this, you're so grounded," she muttered.

JJ snorted despite the situation. "Good to know."

As the plane slammed into the water, chaos erupted. The cabin quickly began to fill with saltwater, leaving the Pogues with precious little time to react. MJ hauled herself above the rising water, clutching the edge of the plane for balance as it rocked violently in the waves.

John B wasted no time, slamming the door open and sticking his head out. "Well, bad news, guys—the cops look real friendly today!" he shouted sarcastically, spotting the flashing lights closing in on the horizon.

"We can't leave him here!" Kie yelled, motioning to the unconscious pilot slumped against the cabin wall. She exchanged a quick, determined glance with MJ, who gave a sharp nod.

While the others scrambled to abandon the plane, MJ and Kie fought the current as it rose steadily around their legs. Water splashed against their faces as they struggled to drag the deadweight of the pilot toward the exit.

"This guy owes us so much for this," MJ grunted, her tone snarky even as the water soaked her through. "The first thing I'm doing when we get out of this mess is charging him for emotional damages."

"Yeah, I'm sure you'll get a nice thank-you card," Kie shot back, coughing as the spray hit her face.

After what felt like an eternity, the two of them managed to haul the man onto the shore. Both collapsed onto the sand, gasping for air as the saltwater dripped from their soaked clothes.

"We got you," Kie said softly, her voice barely audible over the sound of the waves crashing behind them.

The pilot coughed violently, sputtering as he tried to sit up. "Thank you..." he rasped, his gratitude thin but genuine.

MJ rolled onto her back, still catching her breath, before propping herself up on her elbows. Her eyes darted to the flashing lights getting closer. Panic began to settle in her chest as she realized what was coming.

Her gaze flicked to JJ, who was standing further down the beach with John B and Pope. The moment their eyes met, JJ's face twisted with anger and desperation.

"No," he shouted, already sprinting toward her, but John B grabbed his arm, holding him back. "No! MJ!"

MJ forced herself to her feet, her legs wobbling as Kie joined her. The two girls exchanged a resigned look, neither needing to say what they were both thinking: there was no way out.

The police stormed the beach, guns drawn and orders shouted, but all MJ could hear was JJ's voice screaming her name.

"Stay with the others!" she yelled over her shoulder, trying to sound confident, even though her voice wavered.

JJ fought against John B's hold, his eyes wide with panic. "I'm not letting them take you again! MJ, fight them!"

"I'll be fine!" she shouted back, though her heart ached at the sight of him struggling against the inevitable.

The officers grabbed her roughly by the arms, dragging her away. Kie stepped forward instinctively, but MJ shook her head, silently begging her friend to stay back.

As the cuffs clicked around her wrists, MJ felt her resolve falter, but she forced her expression into one of defiance. She'd been here before, and she'd survive it again.

JJ's anguished cries echoed in her ears as the officers shoved her into the back of a patrol boat. Her twin's face was the last thing she saw before they sped away, leaving the rest of the Pogues standing helpless on the beach.

────

The salty wind stung MJ's face as the patrol boat cut through the waves, the island shrinking into the distance. Her wrists ached where the cuffs bit into her skin, and her chest heaved with every laboured breath. The voices of her friends—JJ's especially—were still echoing in her ears.

"Let me go, you assholes!" she shouted, her voice raw and desperate.

"Sit down!" one of the Bahamian officers barked, slamming her back against the cold, metal bench with the butt of his rifle.

MJ glared up at him, the defiance burning in her eyes despite the sting of pain. "Big man with a big gun," she snapped, her tone dripping with mockery. "Does it make you feel important?"

The officer didn't respond, but the tightening of his jaw told her she'd struck a nerve.

The boat slowed as they neared a massive patrol vessel anchored in the middle of the turquoise expanse. It loomed over them, the deck swarming with armed officers, rifles slung over shoulders and tactical vests gleaming in the sun.

This is overkill, MJ thought bitterly. We're just a bunch of kids.

"Out," another officer growled, yanking her to her feet. She stumbled but managed to catch herself, shooting him a scathing look as he shoved her toward the ladder leading up to the larger ship.

As she climbed, her mind raced. Where are they taking me? What do they even want?

She reached the deck and immediately felt the weight of dozens of eyes on her. The officers stared her down, their faces grim and unyielding. MJ held her chin high, refusing to let them see an ounce of fear, though her heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst out of her chest.

"You!" one of the officers barked, stepping forward with a clipboard in hand. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and had a presence that radiated authority. "Name?"

"MJ Maybank," she spat, her voice sharp. "What's it to you?"

The officer raised an eyebrow at her tone but didn't respond. He jotted something down before motioning to two other officers. "Search her."

MJ yanked back as one of them reached for her. "Don't you dare touch me!" she snarled, her eyes blazing.

"Hold her!"

The other officer grabbed her arms, and MJ thrashed wildly, cursing and kicking as they patted her down.

"Real professional," she snapped, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Do you feel better now? Did you find anything interesting? A secret weapon, maybe? A treasure map?"

The officer ignored her, stepping back as his superior studied her with a cold, calculating gaze.

"You're trespassing," he said finally, his tone clipped. "The penalties are steep for that here."

MJ let out a bitter laugh. "Trespassing? Seriously? We were stranded. You know, like a plane crash? Ever heard of it?"

"Save it," the officer snapped, his patience wearing thin. "You're not in the States anymore, little girl. Things work differently here."

"I can see that," MJ retorted, her eyes flicking to the guns slung over the officers' shoulders. "What's with the arsenal? Afraid of a bunch of teenagers?"

Her sarcasm earned her a sharp shove, and she stumbled, nearly falling to her knees.

"That's enough out of you," the officer growled. "Take her below deck. She can sit tight until we figure out what to do with her."

Two officers grabbed her arms, dragging her toward a door at the far end of the deck. MJ's mind raced as she was pulled through the narrow corridors of the ship.

"This is insane!" she shouted, her voice echoing off the metal walls. "I didn't do anything wrong! You're wasting your time!"

The officers didn't respond, shoving her into a small, windowless room and slamming the door shut behind her.

MJ pounded her fists against the door, screaming in frustration. "You can't just lock me up! Let me out, you cowards!"

Her voice cracked, and she sank to the floor, her breathing ragged. For the first time, the weight of her situation truly hit her. She was alone, trapped in a foreign country, surrounded by heavily armed officers who didn't give a damn about her story.

But even as the fear crept in, MJ's defiance burned brighter. She wasn't about to let them break her.

They'll come for me, she told herself, thinking of JJ, John B, Kie, and Pope. They won't leave me here.

But as the minutes dragged on and the silence pressed down on her, another thought took root in the back of her mind, one she refused to entertain.

What if they can't?

As the SUV rolled to a stop in front of the massive iron gates, MJ's gut twisted in uneasy anticipation. The gates slowly creaked open, and the driver maneuvered the car down a long, winding road surrounded by thick jungle. The road was a far cry from the paradise beaches she'd known back on the Outer Banks. This place was isolated and eerie—a world away from everything familiar.

Finally, the car came to a stop in front of a sprawling mansion. The towering white walls gleamed in the midday sun, and the property was guarded by armed security—men with rifles standing like statues at every corner of the mansion. Cameras blinked at every angle, surveillance covering the entire compound.

"Where the hell am I?" MJ muttered, more to herself than anyone else.

The SUV rolled through the gates, approaching the mansion's entrance where two security guards approached. One opened her door roughly, and MJ was yanked out of the car by the arm. Her hands were still cuffed tightly, the cold metal cutting into her wrists, but she was done being quiet.

"Where are you taking me?" she demanded, trying to yank herself free, but they held fast.

"Shut up and keep moving," one of the guards snapped, dragging her toward the looming front doors.

Her eyes flicked around, studying the high-security mansion. Who the hell lives here? She wasn't prepared for the kind of luxury or danger this place radiated. It didn't take a genius to realize that whoever owned this house wasn't playing around.

They ushered her inside, and MJ's stomach tightened at the sight of the marble floors, towering ceilings, and the soft flicker of chandeliers. The house smelled like expensive cigars, polished wood, and an odd, lingering sense of power.

They took her down a long hallway, finally stopping at a large, imposing door. One of the guards knocked once, then opened the door without waiting for a reply.

The man sitting behind the massive desk was tall and muscular, and his sharp features were framed by dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His skin was a deep brown, his presence dominating the room. He wore a black suit that seemed to swallow the light, and his eyes—cold, calculating—locked onto MJ with an unsettling precision.

"Miss Maybank," he said smoothly, his accent thick and authoritative. "I've been waiting for you."

MJ stared at him, her mind racing. She wasn't scared. She couldn't afford to be. But his presence made it clear he wasn't someone you crossed. He was someone who controlled things—things far bigger than her.

"I don't know you," she said, crossing her arms in defiance, still tugging at her cuffs. "Who the hell are you?"

The man stood, moving with an ease that was both graceful and menacing. He rounded the desk and looked down at her with a cold smirk. "Carlos Singh," he said, his voice calm but laced with power. "Perhaps you've heard of me. I've heard a lot about you and your little treasure hunt."

MJ narrowed her eyes. So this guy was behind all this? She didn't know why she was surprised, but hearing him say it out loud made her blood run cold.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, her tone defiant. "If you think I'm some treasure-hunting idiot, you're wrong."

Carlos' smile never faltered, but something in his eyes hardened. "Don't lie to me, Miss Maybank. I know what you've been doing. You and your friends have stirred up quite a mess. You've been following clues, causing trouble, and digging up things that don't belong to you."

MJ clenched her jaw, forcing herself to stay calm despite the rising anger in her chest. "What do you want?"

Carlos leaned closer, his gaze intense. "I want to know everything. You'll give me that information, one way or another."

MJ scoffed. "Is that what this is? Some kind of interrogation? You want to play bad cop, big guy?"

His smile slipped, just for a second, before returning. "I don't have time for games. You will cooperate, or this will go badly for you and everyone you care about."

MJ met his eyes, her pulse pounding in her ears. She refused to back down. "I'm not giving you anything."

Carlos stepped back, eyeing her with a look that made her skin crawl. "Very well. I'll give you some time to think about it."

He motioned to the guards, who moved in on her, tightening their grip as they led her toward another door, deeper into the house.

"Get comfortable, Miss Maybank, and please do change into something more appropriate," Carlos said coolly as she was dragged away. "I'll be back soon to get what I need from you."

MJ didn't flinch as they pushed her into a small, sterile room—cold, isolated, and suffocating. They locked the door behind her, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She wanted to scream, to fight, but deep down, she knew there was only one way out of this. She had to find a way to beat Carlos Singh at his own game.

With that, Carlos Singh left MJ alone in the small room, giving her a few moments to assess her surroundings. Her heart raced as she scanned the space, a quiet determination building in her chest. She bolted for the door, rattling the knob in a futile attempt to escape. It was locked, of course. The sound of her struggle only made the reality more suffocating.

The room was sparse, save for a bed pushed against one wall, a wooden chair at its foot—now knocked over—and a small table beside it. Sitting neatly atop the bed were two dresses. Her eyes flicked over them quickly. One was a long black silk dress, its low back giving it an elegant, almost dangerous allure. The other, an older cocktail slip dress, was covered in floral patterns—soft and vintage, but out of place in the sterile, oppressive space.

She didn't want to do what they expected. She didn't want to submit to their demands, but the nagging voice in her head reminded her that any act of defiance would only make things worse. With no other choice, MJ quickly pulled on the black silk dress, the cool fabric soothing against her sore, dirt-covered skin, just seconds before the door flung open.

Carlos Singh stepped inside, his cold eyes locking onto hers. Without a word, he grabbed her arm with an iron grip and escorted her down the hallway. She tried to keep her focus, refusing to let the panic settle in her chest. Her thoughts kept straying to Rafe, who was already in the next room. If he was here, things were even worse than she'd feared.

He led her into a room where Rafe sat, his presence both familiar and unsettling. MJ's stomach twisted at the sight of him. She loved him—always had—but now, in this place, she was afraid of him too. The way he'd turned cold in the past, the way he manipulated situations to get what he wanted, left her second-guessing herself. Her heart ached at the thought of the things he could do to her, but she couldn't deny the pull toward him, the desire for something real between them, even in a place like this.

Carlos motioned to the empty seat beside Rafe. "Miss Maybank, how nice of you to join us. Please, take a seat," he said smoothly, his voice laced with something dangerous. "I was just telling your friend a story about El Dorado. Do you remember it?"

"Vaguely," she replied, trying to mask her unease. Rafe's eyes flicked toward her, unreadable. She could tell he was wary too, but something in his expression made her chest tighten. She couldn't tell if he was genuinely concerned for her or if he was playing his part in this twisted game.

MJ forced herself to meet his eyes. She didn't want to reveal how much she had learned over the years, but she had to buy herself time. "I know enough," she answered coolly.

Singh chuckled darkly as if enjoying their tension. "You are cautious. I admire that," he said, leaning back in his chair. "But you'll have to do more than play it safe if you want to get out of here."

MJ's stomach dropped. She didn't like the sound of that. And then, Rafe spoke up, cutting through the unease hanging thick in the room.

"Yeah, I don't listen to a word you said, okay? How much longer are we gonna keep philosophizing here?" His tone was sharp, almost dismissive, but MJ noticed the slight tightening of his jaw. He was on edge—just like her.

Singh's gaze shifted to Rafe with a knowing smirk. "You are direct, aren't you, Mr. Cameron?" he said, before turning back to MJ. "What I want is simple. I've come to believe that you and your friends have something that can help me get what I want."

MJ's pulse quickened. She knew where this was going.

"A manuscript," Singh continued, his voice lowering. "A diary, actually."

MJ's breath hitched, but she quickly regained her composure. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she said, her voice steady, but her mind raced. What was he after? What was he willing to do to get it?

Rafe shook his head quickly, feigning confusion. "This is ridiculous. I don't know anything about a diary."

MJ's eyes flicked toward him, her suspicion growing. Was he playing along, or did he really not know what Singh was talking about? She couldn't tell, but she had to keep her guard up.

Singh leaned forward, his eyes never leaving them. "But how else could you have learned that the cross was on the Royal Merchant?" he asked, his voice taking on an edge.

MJ's breath caught in her throat. She had heard about the cross, but she hadn't known it was linked to the Royal Merchant. What was Singh implying? She had to stay calm. She couldn't give him anything.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she repeated firmly, holding his gaze.

Singh studied her for a long moment as if trying to read her every thought. Then, with a sigh, he sat back in his chair. "We'll see about that," he said softly, almost to himself.

The tension in the room was unbearable. MJ could feel the walls closing in, and with every second that passed, she knew they were running out of time. How much longer could she keep up this charade? How much longer could she keep pretending she didn't know anything when she feared that every word she said might seal her fate? And how much longer could she ignore the reality of the man beside her—Rafe, who still held so much of her heart, even as the fear of him grew with each passing moment?

"I was hoping you wouldn't say that, you know." Singh's voice was eerily calm, his smile widening as he leaned forward. "Because, unfortunately, I don't believe you. You and your friends here couldn't have found the cross without it."

MJ's heart pounded, but she kept her gaze steady, narrowing her eyes at Rafe. "Yeah, well, I don't think you're as smart as you think you are."

Singh's smile faltered just slightly, then returned full force. "Oh, I'm aware of the relations," he said, his eyes narrowing on her. "Miss Maybank. Do I look like a fool to you? You have the cross, Mr. Cameron and your friends had it at one point. So one of you has the diary. If you really don't know, then I suggest you convince your brother and friend to tell me. Once I have the diary, you'll be free to leave."

Rafe's posture stiffened beside her, and she could feel his anxiety, his desire to protect her. But as much as she hated to admit it, her frustration was boiling over. His silent tension only made everything worse. She refused to look at him—refused to let him see the panic creeping in.

She glanced at Singh, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "So, let me get this straight. You've got the big bad cross, and now you want a stupid diary? I mean, honestly, are you really this pathetic? Who even cares about some ancient paper?"

Singh's face darkened, but MJ didn't care. She wasn't going to back down, not when she knew what was at stake. She couldn't let them control her. Not again.

"I'm not asking for your opinion, Miss Cameron," Singh snapped, voice low and menacing. "I'm asking for your help."

"I think you've got the wrong girl," she shot back, crossing her arms over her chest. "I don't know anything about a diary, and frankly, I don't give a damn."

Singh's smile was replaced by a glare as he took a step closer to her. "I didn't want to resort to this," he said, voice smooth and chilling. "But if you continue to refuse, things could get... difficult."

Rafe's hand twitched beside her, his protective instincts clearly on edge. He leaned forward slightly, trying to keep his voice calm. "Look, Singh, I'll get you the diary. I'll do whatever you want. Just don't hurt her."

MJ whipped her head toward him, her voice snapping. "Oh, don't act like you're some hero now, Rafe. You've never been one to save anyone."

Rafe flinched at the sting of her words, but his resolve didn't waver. He looked back at Singh, his jaw clenched tight. "You leave her out of this. I'll get you the damn diary, but I need her to stay safe. Understood?"

Singh raised an eyebrow, sizing up the situation. He didn't like being challenged, but the desperation in Rafe's voice seemed to amuse him. "Interesting," Singh muttered, his gaze flicking between them. "Very well, Mr. Cameron. But know this—I don't make deals out of kindness."

MJ's blood ran cold as Singh leaned back in his chair, his gaze still fixed on Rafe. She hated how much power he had over them, but more than that, she hated how it felt to be stuck here, tied to Rafe in a way she couldn't escape. Despite her anger, despite her defiance, a small part of her felt... torn. He was trying to protect her, she knew that much. But the thought of relying on him again? It twisted her up inside.

"Rafe," she snapped, trying to push down the conflicting feelings, "don't think for a second that I'm doing this for you."

He didn't respond, his jaw tight, eyes still trained on Singh. But she saw the way his hand clenched at his side. He was trying, trying so hard to make this right for her. The problem was, she didn't know if she wanted it to be right. Not when she felt this vulnerable, this exposed.

Singh broke the silence, his voice icy. "Well, then. It seems we have a deal. For now."

Singh motioned to the two guards by the door, who quickly moved to unlock it. With an eerie silence, they ushered MJ and Rafe back into the small, dimly lit room, the sound of the door locking behind them making her heart drop. The air was thick with tension, and despite everything, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was no way out.

As the door clicked shut, Rafe moved toward her, his voice low but urgent. "Rosemary, we need to talk."

MJ didn't look at him. She refused to. She wasn't going to fall for his charm again, not when he was the one who had dragged them into this mess in the first place. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, standing as far away from him as the small room would allow.

"Talk?" she spat, her voice dripping with venom. "What's left to talk about, Rafe? You've made it pretty clear that you're just as trapped in all of this as I am."

Rafe stopped a few feet from her, trying to read her expression, but she refused to meet his eyes. His face softened slightly, his frustration mingled with a trace of guilt, but he pushed it down. "I didn't ask for this, okay? I didn't want any of this to happen. But I'm not going to let you get hurt because of me."

MJ let out a harsh laugh, the bitterness in her voice unmistakable. "Oh, so now you're the knight in shining armor? After everything that's happened, you think I'm just going to let you swoop in and save me?"

She couldn't look at him. If she did, if she saw that glimmer of concern in his eyes, she might crack. She might give in, let the walls fall down like they always did around him. But she couldn't let that happen. Not again.

"I never asked you to save me, Rafe," she said coldly. "I didn't ask for your help then, and I sure as hell don't need it now."

Rafe's brows furrowed in frustration, his voice growing more intense. "I'm trying to protect you, Rosemary. You have to understand that. I'm doing everything I can to keep you safe—"

"Safe?" She snapped, finally spinning to face him, her voice rising. "How? By throwing me into the arms of someone like Singh? By getting us both locked in a room where we're nothing more than a bargaining chip? You've got a funny way of showing you care, Rafe."

Her words cut through the silence, sharp and unforgiving. The anger was pulsing through her now, thick and blinding. She was scared, terrified even, but more than that, she was pissed. Pissed at Rafe, pissed at herself, at everything that had led them here.

Rafe didn't speak for a moment, his hands clenched at his sides, his expression torn between guilt and frustration. He opened his mouth to say something, but she cut him off before he could get a word out.

"Don't. I don't want to hear it," she hissed. "You've got your reasons for doing what you do, but I don't need your excuses. Not now. Not ever."

She turned away from him, pacing the small room as her mind raced. Everything felt suffocating, like the walls were closing in on her. She couldn't deal with this. Not now. Not when her emotions were so twisted up inside her, and the last thing she wanted to do was give Rafe any more power over her.

She heard him sigh behind her, but she didn't turn to face him. Instead, she leaned her forehead against the cold wall, trying to steady her breath.

"I'm sorry, okay?" Rafe said, his voice quieter now, tinged with a sincerity that made her heart ache, though she would never admit it. "I never meant for any of this to happen. But if you just let me—"

"Stop." Her voice was low, barely above a whisper, but there was no mistaking the finality in it. "I can't do this right now. I can't deal with you and your pity. Not after everything. Just... leave me alone."

Rafe's silence was deafening, and she could feel the weight of his gaze on her back. He didn't move. He didn't push. He just stood there, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to fix this, if that was even possible.

And for the first time in a long while, MJ felt truly alone.

Rafe stood there for a long moment, watching her, his gaze softening as he took in her exhaustion. The tension in the room was suffocating, but it was the weariness in MJ's eyes that struck him the hardest. She was putting up walls, hard as steel, but the way she staggered through each movement, the way her breath hitched with every harsh word—it was clear she was running on empty.

"Hey," he said quietly, taking a small step toward her. "You need to sleep."

MJ didn't respond, but he could tell she was listening. Her back was still turned, but her shoulders were slumped, like the weight of the world was on them. Her hands trembled slightly, and he could see the exhaustion creeping through her stiff posture, no matter how hard she tried to hide it.

"I'm fine," she snapped, though her voice lacked its usual fire, replaced with a rawness he hadn't heard before. "I'm not going to sleep in here."

Rafe's brow furrowed, and he gently crossed the space between them, stopping just a few feet away. "Rosemary, you can't keep going like this. Look at you. You're barely standing."

"I said I'm fine," she insisted, her tone harder now, though it wavered with the effort to stay strong.

He sighed, trying to push past her deflection. He didn't want to push too hard, not when she was already on the edge, but he couldn't leave her like this, not when it was clear she was barely holding it together. "Listen, I get it. I know you don't want my help. But you're not okay, and you're not going to last long like this. You need rest."

MJ stood still for a moment, her hands gripping the wall in front of her like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Her breathing was shaky, and for the first time since he'd met her, Rafe saw the cracks in her armor.

"I'm not going to sleep while you're here," she muttered, refusing to meet his gaze.

Rafe hesitated, knowing this was one of the rare moments where pushing too hard might break whatever fragile trust was left between them. But he couldn't stand to see her like this, breaking down in silence. He finally spoke, his voice quieter than before.

"I'll sleep against the door."

She turned to look at him, her eyes narrowing in confusion.

"Look," he continued, his voice low and steady, "if the door opens, I'll be awake. You'll be safe. You don't have to worry about it. Just... let yourself rest for a little while, okay?"

MJ stared at him for a moment, her expression unreadable, then let out a small, frustrated sigh. It was a mix of resignation and exhaustion, but there was a small part of her that appreciated the offer—no matter how much she didn't want to admit it.

"Fine," she muttered. "But I'm not going to sleep just because you're doing some 'chivalrous' thing."

Rafe didn't argue. He simply moved over to the door and sat down, leaning back against it with his legs stretched out. He knew she needed the rest, even if she wouldn't admit it. He could hear her shifting on the other side of the room, the sound of her pacing slowing as her movements became sluggish.

A few minutes passed in silence. Rafe didn't say anything, just staying where he was, trying to make himself as unobtrusive as possible while still making sure she knew he was there.

Finally, he heard her give in. A small sigh escaped her lips as she shuffled toward the bed, sitting on the edge, and Rafe could see her shoulders slump, like the fight had drained out of her.

"You're not getting out of this, are you?" she asked, her voice quieter than before.

"No," he said, his tone gentle. "You need sleep. And I'll be right here, I promise."

There was a pause before she spoke again, her voice low and almost hesitant. "...Thanks. For, you know, not being... a total asshole for once."

Rafe chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, though it was laced with a touch of sadness. "Don't thank me yet. Just... get some rest, okay?"

MJ didn't respond immediately, but she didn't protest either. Rafe stayed where he was, his eyes never leaving the door in front of him, his senses sharp, as he waited for any movement outside. He'd heard the click of the door, the locking mechanism that kept them both trapped in this room, but he wasn't going to let anything happen to her while she was vulnerable.

Soon, the rhythmic sound of her breathing filled the space, steady and deep, and Rafe allowed himself to relax, even if only for a moment. He had no idea what the next steps were, or how they were going to get out of this, but he wasn't going to let her face it alone.

Not again.

Not if he could help it.

As MJ lay in the bed, the silence of the room weighed heavy. She tried to will herself to sleep, to block out the whirlwind of emotions churning inside her, but the harder she tried, the more the tension grew. Her chest tightened, and before she could stop it, a quiet sob escaped her lips.

Rafe's head snapped up. "Rosemary?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with concern.

She quickly turned away, wiping at her face. "I'm fine," she croaked, but the shakiness in her voice betrayed her.

Rafe stood slowly, cautious not to startle her. "MJ... you don't have to keep it all in. Not with me."

She let out a bitter laugh, though it was broken by another sob. "Why would I let you see me like this? You're the last person I want to be vulnerable around."

But her walls were crumbling, and Rafe could see it. He crossed the small room, kneeling down beside the bed. He didn't touch her—didn't want to push too far—but his voice was gentle, steady. "You're not alone, okay? Whatever happens, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

For a moment, she stayed silent, her back still turned to him. But then, slowly, she let her guard down, her tears falling freely now. "I'm so tired, Rafe," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I'm tired of being scared, tired of fighting, tired of... everything."

Rafe felt his chest ache at her words. Without thinking, he reached out, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. "I know," he murmured. "I know it's hard. But you're not carrying this alone. Not anymore."

She didn't pull away this time. Instead, she turned toward him, her tear-streaked face vulnerable in a way he'd never seen before. He sat beside her on the edge of the bed, his hand still resting on her shoulder as he offered her a quiet, grounding presence.

For the first time that night, MJ allowed herself to lean into him, her walls falling as she buried her face in his chest. Rafe held her carefully, his arms wrapping around her in a protective embrace. "I've got you," he whispered. "I've got you."

MJ pulled back slightly, her eyes filled with vulnerability as she searched Rafe's face. "I'm afraid of you," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Not in the way you think. I'm not afraid of your anger, or your violence... I'm afraid I'm losing the Rafe I know to the one everyone else sees."

Her breath hitched, and she looked away, her hands gripping the edge of the bed. "I don't know how much longer I can keep pretending I don't see the changes in you. The things you do... they're not you. But I don't know who you are anymore, Rafe."

Rafe's heart clenched, and for the first time, he didn't know what to say. He opened his mouth, but words failed him. Instead, he reached for her hand, his touch gentle, as if trying to tether her to him, to show her he hadn't completely lost himself.

"I'm still here, MJ," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "I'm not what you think I am... or what they think I am. I don't want to be that guy, the one who hurts people or lets them down. Not for you. Not for anyone."

Her eyes met his, filled with confusion and fear, but beneath it, there was a flicker of hope. A hope he wasn't sure he deserved.

Rafe's heart thudded painfully in his chest, and he squeezed her hand tighter, as if he could make her believe him with just his touch. "You're not losing me, MJ," he said quietly. "I'm right here. I might have lost my way for a while, but I'm not letting you go. Not like this."

She looked at him, her eyes filled with a sorrow that was too much for him to bear. And in that silence, everything he wanted to say, everything he was afraid of, hung in the air between them.

Slowly, he sat down beside her, his body weary, his mind too tangled to make sense of anything. His eyelids felt heavy, like the weight of the world had finally caught up with him. He leaned back against the wall, his head tilting, his hand still in hers, and before he could stop it, exhaustion pulled him under.

The sound of her breathing, steady and calming, filled the space, and the tension in his body eased. Despite everything, despite the chaos and uncertainty, he felt a small, fragile comfort in knowing she wasn't pushing him away.

And as sleep claimed him, Rafe allowed himself one last thought before everything went black: I'm not lost yet. I'm not lost yet.

As Rafe gently shifted in his sleep, a faint knock at the window broke the silence, pulling him from his dreamlike state. His heart raced, but he quickly turned his attention to MJ, sitting in the corner, her face a mix of fear and determination. The panic in his chest was quickly replaced by an overwhelming urge to protect her, a feeling he'd been trying to ignore for too long.

He stood, slowly, careful not to alarm her. "Stay close," he whispered, his voice softer than usual. As he approached the door, his protective instincts surged, but it was his gentleness toward her that stood out.

When Singh's men entered, Rafe didn't flinch, his focus entirely on MJ. The guilt still gnawed at him, but now it was tinged with something else—he wanted to shield her from this nightmare, no matter the cost.

"Did you know about this diary?" he asked, his tone more uncertain than accusatory.

MJ's eyes met his, fierce but filled with something softer. "No," she replied sharply, but her voice trembled slightly. "I'm not part of this, Rafe."

Rafe exhaled, frustration and tenderness mixing in his chest. He reached out, not with aggression, but with a hand that spoke of quiet plea. "I believe you," he murmured, trying to close the space between them. "I don't want you caught in this mess."

She looked at him, still skeptical but softened by his sincerity. "You think you can protect me?" she asked quietly, a hint of vulnerability leaking through her sharp tone.

Rafe's gaze softened. "I'm trying," he whispered, stepping closer. He wasn't asking for forgiveness—just for her to understand. "You're not alone in this, MJ. I won't let them hurt you."

Her heart ached as his words wrapped around her like a protective embrace, but the walls inside her were still up, still unsure.

"I've handled worse," she muttered, folding her arms defensively.

Rafe shook his head, but it wasn't in anger. "It's not just about handling it. It's about surviving," he said, his voice firm but gentle. "You don't have to do this by yourself. I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere."

MJ blinked, her own feelings confusing her. Her heart still stung from the past, from everything he'd done, but something in the way he spoke, the sincerity in his eyes—it almost felt like he was telling her the truth.

"Why should I trust you?" she asked, her voice trembling just slightly.

Rafe's eyes flickered with something deeper—something honest. "Because I won't let you go," he said softly. "I won't lose you. Not like this."

For a moment, MJ was lost in his gaze, unsure of where the anger had gone, replaced by a tenderness she hadn't expected. Despite everything, she realized that maybe, just maybe, he was trying. Maybe he wasn't the same person anymore.

"I'm stuck with you, aren't I?" she said with a soft, resigned laugh, not expecting the warmth that bloomed in her chest.

Rafe smiled, not with pride, but with a quiet certainty. "You're never stuck with me, MJ. But I'll be here. Always."

The silence stretched between them, but it was different now—less strained, more understanding. And as he moved closer, MJ didn't pull away, her heart softening even more toward the man who, for all his faults, seemed to want to protect her in a way no one else ever had.

"I don't need a hero," she whispered, her voice full of complexity. "I just need you to be here."

"I'm not a hero," Rafe replied, his voice a mix of pain and conviction. "But I'll fight for you."

As he sat down beside her, his hand brushed against hers, and despite the chaos outside, for the first time in a long while, MJ felt a flicker of hope. Maybe they could survive this—together.