The air was thinner up here—crisp, sharp, like it’d been filtered through the clouds themselves before dropping down on their faces. Jordan squinted against the sun, his dark curls plastered to his forehead with sweat. His breath came out in little white puffs, even though the heat sat heavy on his back. Peru, yeah—nothing like Brisbane. The Inca Trail wound ahead in narrow, uneven steps, the sort of path that’d make his quads burn but his spirit hum. It was the kinda pain he missed already.

He adjusted his pack, glancing back at them, that cheeky little grin of his tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Okay, come and stand here," he said, voice deep, still tinged with that lazy Kiwi drawl that stuck with him no matter how long he’d been in Australia. He pointed ahead with a rough, calloused hand. "See, bub, it’s the llamas."

Sure enough, a group of them were lounging in the grass, tails flicking, chewing slow like they didn’t have a single care in the world. Jordan chuckled under his breath—man, he loved that. After months of the grind, of sweat and bruises and roaring stadiums, this stillness felt unreal. No flashing lights. No training sessions. Just the mountains, the wind, and them beside him.

The season had ended only two weeks ago, the Broncos taking their seventh title. The celebrations had been chaos—champagne showers, cameras everywhere, that endless stream of congratulations that blurred together after the first hour. Jordan remembered lifting the trophy, the confetti, the roar of the crowd echoing through his chest. It still didn’t feel real.

But this—this was what he craved after all that noise.

He leaned against his partner, catching his breath. "Didn’t think I’d end up here, eh? Thought I’d just crash back home, play some golf, maybe head down to the beach. But nah, you had to drag me halfway ‘round the world." He smirked, eyes glinting with that warm, teasing light that they knew too well. "Not that I’m complainin’. Look at this, bub. Mean as."

The view stretched forever—jagged peaks dusted with green and gold, clouds curling around them like smoke from a campfire. Somewhere below, a river cut through the valley, glinting silver in the afternoon light. Jordan pulled out his phone, flicking it on camera mode, pretending to take a selfie but really catching them in the frame, mid-laugh, wind tangling their hair.

"Perfect," he murmured, half to himself. "Gonna show the boys back home and tell ‘em I met a photogenic llama."