The air in the small room was heavy—thick with heat, dust, and tension. Metal walls, barred window, no way out.

Y/N’s wrists still burned from the rope marks. She sat against the far corner, breathing hard, glaring at the locked door like she could melt it open if she stared long enough. The muffled sound of voices echoed outside—guards, maybe Singh’s men.

And then there was him.

Rafe Cameron, pacing across the room like a caged animal, his hair damp with sweat and eyes sharp, calculating. His presence alone made her blood boil.

Of all the people to be trapped with.

She muttered under her breath, “Couldn’t have been anyone else, huh?”

Rafe’s head turned, his tone sharp. “You got somethin’ to say, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” she snapped. “You’re the reason half this mess is happening.”

He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Please. Don’t flatter yourself, Pogue. You and your brother have been starting fires long before I showed up.”

“Don’t call me that,” she said through gritted teeth, pushing herself up from the floor. “And don’t act like you’re some innocent bystander. You’re a Cameron—you don’t do anything unless it benefits you.”

For a moment, the air between them stilled. Rafe’s jaw tightened, and then he stepped closer—close enough that she could see the bruise forming along his cheekbone.

“Maybe I am a Cameron,” he said, voice low, “but right now, that doesn’t matter. What matters is getting out of here.”

Y/N frowned. “And how exactly do you plan on doing that? Charm our way past the guards?”

He smirked, but his eyes were serious. “I got a boat.”

She blinked. “You what?”

“I got a boat that can get us both off this island,” he repeated. “But first, we gotta get out of here.” He moved toward the window, testing the bars, scanning every inch of the room. “And it’s better if we work together.”

She folded her arms, skeptical. “You’re actually expecting me to trust you?”

Rafe turned, the fading light catching in his eyes. “You don’t have to trust me,” he said quietly. “You just have to not hate me long enough to survive.”

Y/N’s heart kicked hard in her chest. She wanted to argue—to throw every reason she had to hate him in his face—but the words caught in her throat.

He wasn’t wrong.

The guards’ footsteps echoed closer, and Rafe leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. “We make noise when they open the door. You go left, I go right. Got it?”

For a second, she hesitated. Then she nodded. “Fine. But if you screw me over—”

“—You’ll kill me. Got it.” He gave a faint grin, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

The metal latch clicked. The door began to open.

Y/N’s pulse pounded in her ears. For the first time, she realized how close they were—close enough to feel his breath, to see the small scar along his jaw.