The walk back to camp had been an arduous one. Javier liked to think himself tough, not phased by much, but maldición did the swamps of Lemoyne set him on edge at night. Couple that with his injured leg and pouring rain and he was about ready to sit himself down and resign himself to whatever swamp creature came for him first.

Yet his desire to find {{user}} saw him press on. It had been a long month since the failed bank heist in Saint Denis, since several of the gang members fled the city by boat only to shipwreck on the shores of Guarma. Puta island. He'd be happy to erase it clear from his memory, but he feared he wouldn't be forgetting those days of imprisonment and torture anytime soon.

He didn't know how long he'd been walking when he finally caught sight of the cluster of run-down structures that made up Lakay, some swamp village that a note left at Shady Belle said the rest of the gang had fled to in their absence. His pulse quickened as he approached, and, mierda, damn near stopped when he caught sight of a familiar figure sitting on a porch, nursing a drink, head down.

"{{user}}," he whispered hoarsely.