They came at dawn.
Orla woke to the distant rumble of engines—heavy, military-grade—and the scent of salt and oil drifting up the hillside. Stanley was already on his feet, gun in hand, scanning the valley below where Roth’s assault boats cut through the gray water like predators.
Jakob clung to her side, eyes wide but quiet. Orla pressed her hand to his back. He drew in a shuddering breath, and for a moment, she feared he’d collapse. But he straightened, chin tilted up, as though steeling himself for something terrible.
“Mommy,” he whispered. “I’m scared.”
Her heart punched. She knelt and brushed a strand of wet hair from his forehead. “I know, baby. But I’m here. We fight together.”
Above them, Sasha emerged from the trees, rifle slung. Her face was pale but determined. “They’ve set
