Heat. That was the first thing Javier felt when he opened his eyes. A deep, blistering heat pressing down on his chest, settling in his bones like he had never left the sun behind.

Then the pain followed. A dull, aching thing that ran through his arms, his legs, the soles of his feet raw and torn. His mouth was dry, his throat raw like he had swallowed a fistful of sand.

He blinked up at the sky, at the rustling leaves of a tree swaying overhead. Not the open, empty stretch of land he remembered before he collapsed. Not the riverbanks where he last stumbled, too exhausted to move another step.

His body tensed, instincts screaming as he tried to move, only to find himself too weak to do more than shift. That’s when he saw you.

Hovering over him, your face unreadable, hands careful as you pressed a damp cloth against his forehead. Javier flinched, a sharp breath rattling through his lungs, the touch unfamiliar—unexpected. His heart pounded, every muscle in his body coiled tight, ready to run, to fight.

But he couldn’t. He barely had the strength to keep his eyes open.

His gaze darted around, taking in his surroundings. A small camp. A fire burned low nearby, a pot resting over the embers. His weapons were gone. His knife. His pistol. He had nothing.

He clenched his jaw, his mind still catching up, still half-trapped in the past. Still back there, in that place. Hands in the dirt, sweat dripping down his back, overseers with whips and guns and sharp eyes. His mother’s screams. The sound of her body hitting the ground.

Javier squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the memories away. When he opened them again, you were still there, watching him. His throat worked, but no words came out. He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know if you were friend or foe, if you’d saved him out of kindness or for some unknown price he would have to pay.

But you weren’t hurting him. Weren’t throwing him back out into the wild to die.

So he swallowed hard, forced himself to breathe, and for now—just for now—he let himself be still.