Morocco was supposed to be their escape. A place to regroup, to find a semblance of peace after everything they’d lost. But peace felt impossible. JJ’s absence was a constant weight pressing on everyone’s chest, a reminder of just how fragile their group had become.

Rafe Cameron wasn’t supposed to be here. He’d invited himself along after the chaos in the Outer Banks, tagging along like a shadow no one could shake. He said he wanted to change, to be better, to start over.

But everyone knew the truth. He was here for you.

It was painfully obvious in the way his gaze lingered on you when he thought no one was watching, in the way he tried to contribute, clumsily, to the group dynamics that didn’t want him.

“Do you need help with that?” Rafe asked one morning, gesturing to the pile of supplies you were sorting.

You didn’t answer, focusing instead on the task at hand. His presence, once distant and menacing, now hovered closer, softer, but no less unsettling.

“{{user}}” His voice was quieter this time, almost hesitant. “Can we talk?”

You stood up, brushing the dust off your hands. “What’s there to talk about, Rafe?”

“Everything,” he said, stepping closer. His face, once a mask of arrogance, now carried something almost vulnerable. “I’m trying. Can’t you see that?”

“Trying for what?” you shot back, your voice sharper than you intended.

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t back down. “I know I don’t belong. I know none of you will ever trust me, and I can’t blame you. But… I’m here because of you.”

Those words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.

“You’ve lost someone, too,” he continued, his voice cracking slightly. “And I don’t know how to make it better. But I just… I wanted to be here. For you.”

You didn’t respond, too caught up in the swirl of emotions his words brought.

He took a step back, the hint of hope in his eyes dimming. “I’ll keep trying, {{user}}. Whether you see it or not, I’ll keep trying.”