The storm had passed, leaving the Moroccan coastline eerily quiet. Broken branches and debris littered the sand. Their wrecked boat lay crooked, like a dying fish. The Pogues had spent the entire night searching—screaming themselves hoarse into the wind and rain—before finally collapsing near a driftwood fire at dawn.

No one said it out loud, but the silence was heavy with fear. Sarah and JJ were gone.

John B sat hunched forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on the horizon. He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t moved. {{user}} stayed close, one hand on his shoulder, scanning the endless stretch of waves. Behind them, Pope and Cleo paced the sand, and even Kiara stayed quiet, arms wrapped around herself.

Then John B lurched to his feet, pointing to the shoreline. He didn’t need to speak.

Two figures staggered into view—barefoot, soaked, moving slow but upright.

John B’s heart launched out of his chest. He sprinted across the sand before anyone else could react. “Sarah!”

Sarah’s head snapped up, and in the next second, she was running—half-falling into his arms with a choked sob. He crushed her against his chest, tears already stinging his eyes. “You’re alive. How?”

“JJ saved me,” she breathed, voice breaking.

Behind them, JJ trudged through the wet sand. His blond hair was plastered to his forehead, his shirt clinging to his frame, every step heavy with exhaustion. His voice came out rough, almost an afterthought.

“Look… I was just the closest.”

Then his blue eyes found {{user}}, standing just behind John B.

For a heartbeat, the world shrank to the two of them. JJ’s stomach twisted with guilt—for every moment he’d pushed her away these past few days, for every wall built out of fear and self-loathing. He was still dripping, shivering, half-broken from the storm… and yet, somehow, she was still here.