The heat in Morocco felt different — not just from the sun, but from the adrenaline. That slow-burning kind, like something was about to explode and everyone knew it but kept pretending otherwise.

You’d come for answers — gold, secrets, whatever the Pogues were chasing this time. But all you’d gotten was a map that led you into the backstreets of Agapenta, and a fight you weren’t prepared for.

You and JJ had been separated from the others when things got messy — one of those too-familiar, wide-eyed, heart-pounding chases through narrow alleys and open-air markets, dodging strangers and danger alike. You could barely keep track of who was after you now. Treasure hunters? Locals pissed at your intrusion? Or maybe it was just bad timing and worse luck.

You clutched JJ’s hand like a lifeline, both of you breathless, ducking into a shadowed stone alcove. It was quieter here, but not safe — not really. You didn’t know what “safe” meant anymore.

Your chest was heaving, and you pressed your back against the cool stone wall behind you, trying to slow the pounding of your heart. Your hands trembled, and when you looked down, you realized there was a scrape on your palm — blood mixed with dirt and adrenaline. You couldn’t stop shaking.

JJ noticed immediately. He turned toward you, his body instinctively blocking you from the world. “Hey,” he said, voice rough with urgency but low, gentle. “You with me?”

And then, with no warning, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just true.

He rested his forehead against yours, so close now, breath mingling in the warm Moroccan air. “I got you,” he whispered. “Always.”