The storm had settled into a steady, icy downpour. Sheets of rain hammered the cliffside with rhythmic fury, muddying the paths and leaving jagged footprints to vanish almost as fast as they formed. Thick fog curled around tree trunks like restless spirits, and distant thunder groaned over the canyons.
Dexter paced the cliff's edge like a man unraveling.
"She can't just vanish," he growled, his boots sloshing in the soaked underbrush. His fists were clenched, blood pulsing hot through his veins. He had envisioned this hunt as his final blaze of glory—get the girl, vanish with the bounty. But now... He slammed his fist into the nearest tree. The bark cracked beneath the blow. "Where is she?!"
His eyes blazed, red-rimmed and wild. Rainwater streaked down his face, mingling with the sweat of frustration and fear.
Drago stood nearby, silent but simmering. Steam curled off his bare arms despite the rain. His breath came shallow, chest rising and falling faster now. Oxygen seemed harder to draw into his lungs.
"She can't possibly disappear just like that… right?" he muttered, voice taut with disbelief. Every second that passed tightened the noose around his dreams. He had already counted that $66 million ten times in his head. She was their key, and she was gone.
Aragon, leaned against a tree with his arms folded, surveyed the chaos with narrowed eyes. He was the strategist, the cold mind amid hot tempers. And yet even he struggled to maintain his composure.
"We keep searching," he ordered, jaw tight. "That's two billion U.S. dollars walking around on two legs. Find her."
Dexter let out a bitter sigh, eyeing the gorge below. Mist hovered over the chasm like a curtain.
"She's not here," he muttered. "We check under the cliff. Now."
Elsewhere… On a sun-scorched world where silence reigned supreme...
The desert stretched endlessly beneath a molten sun—its light white-hot, its heat merciless. Sand curled into miniature dunes around her body. The sky above was a sheet of harsh, cloudless blue, trembling under the sun's unrelenting stare.
Shanazer lay motionless. Her skin, kissed raw by solar fury, shimmered with sweat and dust. The portal behind her flickered once... and sealed shut with a low hum, leaving behind no trace she had ever fallen through.
Seven days passed.
Inside a small domed shelter made of adobe and sun-blasted stone, cool shadows swayed to the rhythm of a slowly turning fan. The air smelled faintly of herbs, old metal, and sweat.
Tairen Exon sat beside her, heavy eyes fixed on the girl who had haunted his thoughts for a week. His bones ached from sitting too long, but he didn't move. He watched every breath she took—slow, but steady now.
You've healed. Why won't you wake?
He exhaled through his nose.
"Rascal," he muttered gently, his voice husky with age and regret. "When shall you awaken? It's been seven days, and though Death hangs over you like a shadow... it seems reluctant to take you." A dry chuckle escaped his lips. "So open your eyes, would you? Keep this old fool company."
He looked away, his gaze settling on a faded photo of a smiling woman nailed to the wall. His late wife.
"I couldn't save you," he whispered to her image. "Maybe… I can save this one."
Tairen Exon had once led battalions. Decorated war hero, feared commander. But those victories had never filled the crater her death left in him. He had lived thirty-five years with that weight pressing on his ribcage like a gravestone.
Then she made movement. She stirred. A blink. Another.
Shanazer opened her eyes, pupils shrinking against the low amber light above her. The ceiling… the walls… a bed? She jerked her head side to side. Silence. Am I… alive?
Her fingers twitched. Her arm moved. I'm not restrained. Panic surged, but curiosity arrested it.
Next a THUD!
She dropped on the floor from the top of the bed. Her heart erupted in her chest. She struggled upright with jerky, uncontrolled movements, gasping as pain lanced through her ribs.
Then she coughed.
A thick, tar-like clot of congealed blood spilled from her lips and onto the sheets. The taste was metallic and bitter, like rust and fire.
The sound jolted Tairen from his thoughts. He turned to find her trembling, eyes wide with fear.
"Oh," he exhaled with soft relief. "You're awake."
He smiled warmly, sunlight catching the creases in his weathered skin. "Sit, you're safe. No harm will come to you here."
He didn't touch her. He could see the storm behind her eyes. Gently, he raised his hand and gestured calmly.
"Breathe. In… and out."
Her instincts screamed to flee. But she wasn't bound. No instruments, no restraints. Just the walls... and this man.
She finally obeyed.
Slowly, her breath deepened. Her hands unclenched. After thirty minutes of silence, she was still. Still afraid. But watching.
Tairen stayed beside her, unmoving, the patience of a man who had waited for redemption too long already. "You're doing great," he encouraged, voice as soft as old linen.
Then: "Anna!" he called gently.
A moment later, a young woman stepped in—unbothered, expression unreadable. "So she's up."
Tairen gave a small motion with his fingers. Quiet.
Anna passed him a towel without a word. He offered it to the stranger.
The gesture was simple—but it shook Shanazer to her core. A memory surfaced: her father's face, bloodied, whispering for her to live.
She took the towel with trembling fingers, pressing it to her mouth. Tears slid silently down her cheeks. She had forgotten what kindness looked like.
She wept. Then wiped.
Tairen handed her a cup of water. She drank greedily, water dripping down her chin and neck. Anna stepped forward with a tray of food—rice, spiced roots, and roasted meat. The scent alone made Shanazer dizzy.
She grabbed the tray and instantly devoured it without hesitation, chewing loudly, swallowing fast. The room was silent but alive with unspoken thoughts.
She's been starving for days, Tairen thought. But something about her…
There were questions. Dozens. He could feel the weight of them rising behind his eyes.
Once she had finished, and the silence had gathered again, he leaned slightly forward.
"I'm Tairen Exon," he said gently. "This is my niece, Anna. And you are?"
She paused, chewing one final bite. Then swallowed.
Tairen smiled, "Take your time. We're not going anywhere."
Her lips parted. Her voice was soft, rusty from disuse.
"Shanazer Athens."
Tairen Exon smiled faintly, quietly thrilled to hear Shanazer speak. Her accent was unfamiliar, veiled and hard to place—but that only added to the mystery. At least now, words could fill the long silences between them. They had time. Time to understand each other. Time to untangle everything.
Shanazer scanned the room once more. The people here didn't seem hostile—at least not outwardly. A part of her wanted to believe in their kindness. But that part had been wrong before.
She drew a slow breath, steadying her voice, and met Tairen's eyes—sharp, watchful, unnervingly kind.
"Why are you helping me?"
The question hung there, unanswered, stretching between them like the shadow of something just out of sight.