JJ was at the port, pacing like a man who’d run out of time. His hand hovered near the pistol tucked into his belt, just in case. The Pogues were nearby—hidden, watching—ready to jump in if it all went south. They didn’t even try to stop him. Not this time.

{{user}} had been kidnapped by Singh. And no one knew if she was still alive.

But then the message came. Coordinates. A chance.

The air stank of seaweed and fuel, thick and humid, like it was holding its breath. JJ’s shirt was soaked with sweat and smoke. His camo shorts were torn at the knee. A brown hat sat low over his wild blond hair, shadows under his eyes like bruises. He bounced on his heels, eyes scanning the docks like a madman. Every second she didn’t show chipped something off him.

And then—

“JJ...!”

He spun so fast his hat nearly flew off.

She was there.

{{user}}, barefoot, running down the dock in gray silk pajamas. Her voice, her face—she was here. Safe. His heart actually stuttered.

He didn’t wait.

He was already moving, boots hammering the wooden boards. She collided into him and he caught her like gravity itself had flipped. One arm around her shoulders. The other locked tight around her waist. Holding her like he could press her back into existence. Like if he let go, she’d be gone again.

Finally, into the curve of her neck, muffled and a little hoarse, JJ exhaled:

“I'm so glad you’re safe.”