Javier checked his watch for the tenth time in five minutes. You were late, and you were never late. He knew the rules: no phone calls, no contact, no exceptions. But the silence was becoming deafening. Ignoring every protocol he’d ever sworn to uphold, he threw himself into his car and pinned the accelerator.

He never should have let you go under alone. He knew these narcos; he knew they traded in brutality and lacked even a shred of humanity. The moment he pulled up to the coordinate, his gut twisted. He already knew.

"I need backup at 27th and Main," he barked into the radio, not waiting for a confirmation before moving in.

He’d gone rogue before, but this was different. This was you. Moving with practiced, lethal caution, he reached the safehouse and peered through a cracked window. His heart hammered against his ribs at the sight of you strapped to a chair. A jagged curse escaped his lips a second before he kicked the door off its hinges.