As he suddenly charged toward me, the air tightened.
I stepped back instinctively, my heel catching in the dirt — and in the same heartbeat Kehnu was there again. He grabbed him hard and pulled him away from me, placing his own body between us without hesitation.
That broke something in him.
He tore free, face twisted, eyes wild. "Fight me!" he shouted, spittle flying. "You animal! She is mine!"
Kehnu didn't answer.
He didn't shout back.
He didn't raise his fists.
He stood still — calm in a way that made the rage in front of him look small.
Jack swung.
A wide, sloppy punch fueled by hunger and arrogance. Kehnu stepped aside with a short shift of his weight, the fist cutting through empty air. Jack stumbled forward, off balance, snarling like a cornered dog.
He swung again. Missed again.
The two companions moved in then, emboldened by noise and chaos, charging with shouts and flailing arms.
The fight did not explode — it closed.
Men from the village stepped in from all sides, silent and fast. Hands grabbed wrists. Legs hooked. Bodies pressed. Someone swept Jack's legs out from under him. He hit the ground hard, breath knocked from his chest. One of the others tried to bite. Another scratched like a feral thing.
It was over before it became loud.
They were dragged to a pole near the edge of the clearing and tied — wrists, torsos, ankles — with practiced efficiency. They fought even then, snarling, thrashing, leaving streaks of blood and dirt on their own skin.
Scratches covered their arms and faces. Hair wild. Eyes blazing.
Animals.
I stood where I was, heart pounding so hard it hurt, hands shaking at my sides.
No one looked at me for permission.
No one asked what to do.
If the tribe chose to act, it would not be because of me.
They had crossed the line themselves.
As I watched, tribe members gathered nearby and spoke among themselves. Their voices were low, steady. I caught a few familiar words, but not enough to understand the whole meaning.
Kehnu turned toward me.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Yes," I said automatically.
But he didn't look convinced. He studied my face, his eyes searching mine, seeing past the word. He stepped a little closer, his voice softer.
"Go resting, Anna."
I nodded.
Kate ran to me then, wrapping her arms around my waist. "Mommy… why are those men tied up? And why is Jack there?"
For a moment, I didn't know how to answer.
"Kate," I said gently, kneeling so we were eye to eye, "Jack tried to grab me. He was angry. That's why they tied him."
She looked past me toward him, her small face serious.
"Mommy… did he turn into an animal when he was in the jungle?"
I blinked — then, despite everything, a small laugh escaped me.
"Maybe, love," I said quietly. "Maybe he did."
We went back to our hut. My hands were still trembling, my chest tight, and I needed something—anything—to ground myself. I reached for the clay and began rolling it between my palms, forming small, imperfect balls without thinking.
Kate sat beside me and copied my movements.
"I'm going to make a necklace," she said happily.
I nodded, murmuring back to her, my voice slowly steadying as my hands worked. Time passed like that — hours slipping by unnoticed — until the palm leaf beside us was covered in little clay shapes.
When we stepped outside again, the village had already gathered in a circle. People were eating, talking softly. They greeted us as we approached, making space without words.
A bowl of food was placed into my hands, warm and heavy.
Kate and I sat with them, eating together, the rhythm of the village slowly pulling my breath back into calm.
As we finished eating, I stood up and walked toward Jack and his two companions.
The moment he saw me, he started yelling again, thrashing against the ropes, his face twisted into something ugly and wild.
"Anna! You'll regret this! How dare they tie me up!" he shouted. "Savages! All of them! And you—look at you, living like this!"
I stood there, close enough now to see the dirt ground into his skin, the sharp smell of sweat and anger. I watched his mouth move, watched the familiar sneer I once mistook for confidence.
Something inside me snapped.
"You are the savage," I said sharply.
He froze for a heartbeat.
"Jack," I continued, my voice steady but burning, "do you really think I could ever look at you with love after everything you've shown me? After this?"
I took a step closer.
"You're a piece of shit of a human."
The words felt clean as they left me.
I turned around — and stopped.
Kehnu stood behind me, along with several other villagers. They were silent, solid, unmoving. Kehnu met my eyes.
"Jack and Kehnu fight," he said slowly, choosing words I could understand.
"If Jack wins, he walks away."
He paused.
"If he loses… he does not walk away."
I searched his face. There was no rage there. No hunger for violence. Only calm certainty.
I felt it clearly then — I felt safer standing among these people, beside Kehnu, than I ever had beside Jack.
I nodded.
I didn't care anymore. I had seen who Jack was. I had seen it before, and I saw it now.
I stepped back.
Jack began screaming again, louder, spitting words I no longer listened to. I turned away. I didn't want to watch his face anymore.
Several men moved forward, untied him, and pulled him into the center of the village clearing. The people formed a wide circle around them, men and women alike, silent now, watching.
Kehnu stepped into the circle.
Jack was dragged forward, stumbling, then shoved upright. No weapons. No tools. Just them — bare hands, bare feet, bare truth.
As Jack looked around the circle, his lip curled. He spat onto the ground and started laughing, a harsh, broken sound.
"Savages," he said again, louder this time. "All of you. Look at you, playing tribe like animals."
I stayed farther back, my body strangely calm, almost cold. I watched him without the rush of fear I once would have felt. If the tribe decided to make a lesson out of him, so be it. He needed to learn how to survive — or not survive at all.
I knew I couldn't stop what was coming.
And, if I was honest with myself, I knew I probably wouldn't try.
When we first woke on that beach, when everything was still shock and salt and sand, I had already seen it — the way he took advantage of people when they were weak, the way his eyes measured others only by what he could take from them. That was the moment something broke beyond repair.
Standing there now, watching him snarl and spit at people who had fed me, sheltered my child, and shared everything they had, I felt nothing for him.
He had lost everything in my eyes.
Not his strength.
Not his status.
His humanity.