Carlos walked toward the village gate, hands raised, his steps steady despite the weight of the choice pressing on his soul. The guards eyed him suspiciously, their rifles ready, their fingers tense on the triggers.

"Why the hell are you raising your hands, Carlos?" the guard captain barked. "And where are the others? General Esteban left with you. Didn’t you all go together?"

Carlos quickly processed the situation. If Esteban hadn't returned, it meant he was either dead or occupied elsewhere. That meant he had a choice—a final chance to betray Solomon and Jamie in exchange for his own security.

He could spin a lie, tell the guards that the two outsiders were spies, let them handle the killing. Or… he could stick to the path he had chosen.

A brief image flashed in his mind—his six-year-old daughter's innocent face. He had once believed that strength was the only way to survive, that betraying others was just another step on the ladder of power. But he had seen Solomon fight, seen Jamie’s resilience, and in that moment, he saw an opportunity. If Solomon was healed, if he could gather the right people… maybe, just maybe, they could overthrow Esteban. After all, strength ruled the jungle, and if Solomon was strong enough to defeat him, then perhaps the village could have a new future.

Carlos chuckled as he neared the gate, shaking his head as if amused. "Relax, amigo," he said with an easy grin. "General Esteban got some fresh intel—government convoy loaded with weapons and supplies heading for the Brazilian army. He took most of the boys to intercept it. Sent me back to the village with these two." He jerked a thumb toward Jamie and Solomon, still hidden in the foliage. "This guy here is the foreigner we were supposed to rescue, but he's messed up bad—took a hit and couldn’t join the General on his mission. So Esteban told me to bring him in, patch him up. You know how it is—only someone strong and reliable could get an injured man and a girl through the jungle."

The guard captain spat onto the dirt, unimpressed. "Hah. You always did love running your mouth, Carlos. But I can’t deny Esteban trusts you." He signaled to his men. "Let them in."

Carlos turned to wave at Solomon and Jamie, relief flickering in his eyes as the gate creaked open. Solomon, still wary, kept his hand close to his pistol, ready for betrayal. But Jamie, exhausted yet hopeful, exhaled deeply as they stepped forward into the village.

---

Meanwhile, deep in the jungle…

Ryan crouched behind thick undergrowth, eyes locked on Victoria's convoy as it rumbled down the jungle road. The armored vehicles carried elite operatives, a force that could tip the scales if they reached the SEALs’ forward camp.

He took a slow breath, his thumb hovering over the detonator. The C-4 was placed perfectly along the narrowest stretch of road—there would be no escape.

Click.

The explosion ripped through the jungle, a deafening roar as fire and metal burst into the air. The first armored vehicle was flung sideways, crashing into the trees. Smoke billowed, screams echoed. The convoy halted, soldiers leaping out to assess the situation.

Ryan wasted no time. With practiced precision, he took aim and fired. His first shot found a soldier's neck, the second buried in another’s chest. Chaos erupted as the surviving troops dove for cover and returned fire. Bullets zipped past him, striking trees and sending bark flying.

"Shit," Ryan muttered, realizing they were regrouping faster than he had hoped. He fired off another few rounds before slinging his rifle onto his back and sprinting deeper into the jungle. His off-road motorcycle was parked a short distance away—his escape plan.

But as he ran, he heard shouting behind him. They were following.

The hunt was on.

---

Arrival

As Beth and Sophia arrived at the Navy SEALs forward camp, they were immediately met with raised rifles and stern faces. The guards at the gate, dressed in full combat gear, wasted no time in blocking their path.

"Halt! Identify yourselves!" one of them barked, his tone sharp and unwavering.

Sophia stepped forward, breathing heavily from the urgency of their mission. "We need to speak to David, it's urgent!" she insisted.

The guards exchanged glances, their suspicion deepening. "No civilians allowed. Turn around."

Before things could escalate, a woman in combat fatigues stepped out from a nearby tent, her presence commanding. Rebecca, a combat medic who had once served alongside David in his SEAL days, had noticed the commotion. As she approached, her sharp eyes landed on Sophia, and for a brief moment, she hesitated.

A flashback hit her—she remembered a rare moment of rest during a brutal mission. David, exhausted but smiling, had once shown her a photo of himself with Sophia. Back then, he'd kept it tucked inside his vest, a reminder of something worth fighting for.

Snapping back to the present, Rebecca raised a hand, stopping the guards before they turned more aggressive. With a slight smirk, she crossed her arms.

"Well, well," she mused. "I recognize you. David used to carry a photo of you, didn’t he?" She then turned to Beth. "Now, mind telling me what brings you both here in such a hurry?"

Even though the woman was smiling, Beth couldn't shake the feeling that there was something unsettling about her. However, there was no time to dwell on it.

Taking a deep breath, Beth got straight to the point. "Victoria's forces are on the move. They know about David. They’ll be here soon, and we don’t have much time. We need to meet him before it's too late."

Rebecca’s smirk faded. In an instant, her demeanor shifted from casual amusement to deadly seriousness.

"Come with me," she said, turning toward the camp. "We need to move. Now."

---

Home and Hope

As Carlos led the injured Solomon and the exhausted Jamie through the winding paths of the village, he took it upon himself to explain the dynamics of the place. The village, a mix of old stone structures and makeshift huts, was home to survivors, mercenaries, and those who had nowhere else to go. Loyalty here was fluid, shifting with power and opportunity, but one rule remained absolute—strength dictated authority.

"The villagers follow General Esteban because they fear him, not because they respect him," Carlos muttered under his breath, his gaze shifting to a group of rough-looking men watching from a distance. "Some are loyal, some just bide their time, waiting for a shift in power. If you can prove you're strong, they might listen to you."

Jamie, still catching her breath, took in the wary glances from children peeking from doorways and women who hurried past, avoiding eye contact. This wasn’t just a village—it was a fragile ecosystem of fear, alliances, and silent rebellion.

Carlos continued leading them through narrow alleys, passing by a group of men gambling outside a rundown shack and a merchant counting supplies under armed watch. He kept talking, explaining who could be trusted and who would sell them out the moment it benefited them. Solomon, limping beside him, remained silent, absorbing every detail.

Finally, as they turned the last corner, Carlos's house came into sight. A simple but sturdy wooden structure, standing near the edge of the village. Just as relief started to settle in, a small, high-pitched voice cut through the air.

"PAPÁ!"

Carlos froze.

A little girl, no older than six, came running toward him, her dark curls bouncing, arms wide open. Her eyes, filled with pure joy, were the only warmth in this cold, merciless world.

For a moment, the hardened warrior’s expression softened, his posture relaxing as he knelt to embrace his daughter. In that instant, the mercenary, the survivor, the brute—all of it faded.

Jamie watched, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten. She clutched her pendant tightly, praying that, despite all odds, this place could still hold hope.