Days turned into a grueling routine of survival. I tended to Alessandro’s wounds, foraged for food, and kept watch for any sign of danger. The forest became our world, our prison, our sanctuary.
Alessandro’s strength slowly returned, but the bitterness in his eyes remained. He spoke little, his words laced with a cold cynicism, his gaze filled with a chilling suspicion. He was a man wounded, not just physically, but emotionally, his trust shattered, his heart broken.
One afternoon, as we sat by the fire, the silence broken only by the crackling of the flames, Alessandro spoke, his voice low, his tone contemplative.
"We need to find out who did this," he said, his eyes fixed on the flames. "Who tampered with the plane."
"I agree," I said, my voice steady. "But how? We're stranded here,
