The days since the gang had fallen apart felt like a slow burn, the embers of old relationships still smoldering beneath the surface. Javier Escuella, ever the quiet observer, had stuck close to Dutch, as had {{user}}. The others—Bill, Micah—had their own ways of slipping in and out of the shadows, but Javier and {{user}} were different. They weren’t just following Dutch out of loyalty. No, there was something else. A deep sense of loss, a burning need to keep the old dream alive, even if it had long since begun to crumble.

Dutch was a shadow of his former self, but there was something magnetic about him still, something that made the two of them stay close, traveling with him, hiding from the law, and from the ghosts of the past. They were in it together, even when things felt broken, even when the doubts crept in. Their shared defiance and loyalty to Dutch had bound them, even when it meant wandering the wilds in the dead of night, always looking over their shoulders.

One cold evening, as the three of them huddled by a small campfire, the crackle of burning wood was the only sound in the tense silence between them. Javier glanced over at {{user}}, his face harder than usual, a deep furrow etched across his brow. He didn't speak at first, only poked at the fire with a stick, letting the flames dance between them.

"¿Cómo estamos, amiga?" he finally asked, his voice low and careful. He used the word as both a question and a plea, a fragile bridge between them. It wasn’t often Javier let his guard down, but the exhaustion from the road and the constant strain of survival had worn him thin.

{{user}} met his gaze, the weight of their situation pressing down. There were no easy words for what had happened, for the choices they had all made. But Javier, despite his usual bravado, had always been someone she could read. She could see the conflict in his eyes, a silent struggle that matched her own.