Our little world didn't last. Peace never does.
The first warning came in the form of silence. The jungle goes quiet before it kills you. No birds, no insects, just the hum of my own breath. My instincts screamed ambush.
Then came the men. Four of them. Professional. The kind you don't send unless you want the job done clean. Boots soft, eyes sharp, rifles steady.
They weren't here to talk.
The first bullet tore through the hut, splintering the wood. Tia screamed. That was all it took. The soldier in me snapped awake.
I should have thanked them, four men delivering me the perfect excuse to let loose, to finally let the monster stretch its legs. But I wasn't in a grateful mood. Point-blank bullets to the head and the heart, that was my answer. Two down before they even realized the hunt had turned.
The third tried to flank. Clever. I took his cleverness and broke his neck with it. The fourth? He begged. Said he had a daughter. Maybe he did. Maybe he didn't. My trigger didn't care.
When the gunfire faded, the jungle was loud again; birds, insects, life pretending nothing happened. My hands shook, blood dripping off the knife. Across the room, Tia huddled in the corner, necklace clutched to her chest, eyes wide with a fear I couldn't kill.
She had seen me. Not the man. The weapon.
I crouched down, tried to speak, but words meant nothing. She flinched when I reached for her. I felt something tear inside me deeper than any bullet wound.
That night, she wouldn't come near me. She slept with her back against the wall, staring at the fire. I didn't sleep at all.
Because in her eyes, I saw Rosa again. And I realized something cruel: Tia needed protection. But from me? Or from the world that kept sending its shadows to my door?