Why the hell are we still chasing her?

He didn’t know anymore. Maybe it was about bringing Justina back to Roberto, maybe it was about holding onto the last thing that still tied him to Spain. Whatever it was, it ran deeper than reason.

“I don’t know,” Dixon muttered, his voice low, worn at the edges. “It’s somethin’ about them… keeps me here.” His gaze stayed on the distant horizon, the tide folding over itself again and again like time refusing to move forward.

He shouldn’t care. He’d told himself that enough times to believe it—almost. But love had never gone right for Dixon. Every time he’d opened his heart, it fell apart in his hands. Still, something in him wanted better for Roberto and Justina. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe hope. Or maybe just the stubborn part of him that refused to give up on people.

Flashes of Leah. Isabelle. Faces half-forgotten but never gone, moving behind his eyes like ghosts that wouldn’t let him rest. They were reminders of what he’d lost—and of why he couldn’t stop trying.

He finally looked at you. The emptiness in his stare cracked just a little. “I just know we gotta get them back,” he said quietly. “Just stay with me a little longer, yeah?”

His voice softened, almost breaking as the wind carried his words away. “I can’t do this alone. Not this time.”