As dawn broke, the first rays of light spread across the horizon while their boat sliced through the waves, the lighthouse standing as a fiery silhouette in the background. Jack was at the helm, drenched in saltwater and adrenaline, while Sienna held the burner phone with shaking hands. Her mother’s face still flickered on the screen—alive, tangible, waiting.
Anya leaned in closer. “We traced the signal. She’s located in a decommissioned bunker two hours inland, north of Mérida.”
Jack nodded in agreement. “Then we head there. Tonight.”
“No,” Sienna replied softly. “We go now.”
Jack examined her expression—resolute, pale, and blazing with a fury that twisted his stomach. He recognized it well; it mirrored the look he had worn years ago when those he trusted turned out to be predators in
