ren14554

[ren14554]

Want to start from the beginning? Chapter 1

Eternal

Chapter 26: City Center

There's this dull feeling against his scalp. Repetitive and gentle. Almost lulls him back to sleep, but the sounds outside the tent ruin that.

Also, the warm body he's smushed against isn't helping.

He tightens his arms around Sofia's waist, pulling her close. His forehead rests in the crook of her shoulder as her fingertips draw slow, intoxicating lines through his hair.

It's been ages, it feels, since he last buzzed it all off. He can feel the fresh growth reacting to Sofia's touch.

Fuck if it's not relaxing.

"Mornin'," he mumbles.

"Sleep well?" Her voice is soft, her head resting lightly atop his.

"'Parently so."

"Gotta get up." She says it with a teasing edge. He can hear the smirk in her voice.

Rafe groans, burying himself deeper into her shoulder, arms tightening around her waist. Her chest trembles with a quiet laugh.

They can't stay like this forever, much to his annoyance. He still wonders what might've happened if he'd just taken Sofia home after Cairo. Skipped all this. Groff still would've come, still haunted her. Haunted them. But maybe they'd be safe. At home instead of lost in the middle of a Mexican rainforest, chasing legends about pools of eternal life.

Rafe exhales as they finally rise, spurred on by movement outside the tent. Sofia's hand draws small circles on his lower back in silent understanding while they pack up camp, the sky just beginning to blush with dawn.

"According to the map," Pope says, "maybe another half-day, at most."

"Great," Kiara adds, hopping off a rock. "Then let's get moving before the bugs start biting." She swats away a small mosquito.

They trudge forward, the sun rising inch by inch. The humidity is thick, and the bugs are merciless. Monkeys screech in the distance. Bird calls echo from somewhere high in the canopy. It keeps them on edge.

By late morning, the dense jungle begins to break. Pillars appearing ever so often, tilted sideways under tangled vines, stone structures half-consumed by the forest. They don't stop, but they do stare.

Sofia's head swivels with each marker they pass.

"Is that…" Sarah trails off.

They push through the brush. Another wall emerges—overgrown, smothered in ivy, and sprouting wildflowers. Sunlight filters through gaps in the leaves above, casting everything in a golden haze.

"Okay," John B mutters, arms crossed. "Doesn't look like there's a way in."

"We could walk the perimeter," Kiara suggests, tapping the wall. "See if there's a break somewhere."

"Or walk even longer, just hoping." Sarah arches her back in a stretch. The curve of her stomach lifts with the motion—a silent reminder of what she's carrying. "Could catapult someone over to check?"

"Not me," Cleo says immediately.

"I agree with Kiara," Sofia adds. "All we've really got is a chance to search."

"We've got walkies," Rafe offers. "We can just split up—"

"No," Sarah cuts in. "No more splitting up."

"Then we walk," John B shrugs.

Sarah rolls her eyes but takes the lead. The rest follow. They skirt the perimeter until they find a ragged gap in the stone, partially hidden by more ivy.

One by one, they duck through it. The air inside is stale and damp, and the soil beneath their boots is loose. Insects scurry as they pass. In front of him, Sofia barely lets her fingers graze the wall, avoiding contact as if it might bite.

Twenty feet later, it opens into a tight, enclosed space. Old wood litters the floor, sunlight pouring through fractured sections above.

"Guess we go up," Cleo says, stepping onto an old staircase. It groans under her weight, wood sagging with age.

The others follow, moving carefully. Rot has set in after all this time, dust and debris falling off the steps as they all follow up slowly. But caution only gets them so far.

Halfway up, right before the top of the stairs, they give out.

John B stumbles, arms flailing. Rafe grabs around Sofia's waist, yanking her into his chest just before the whole thing collapses beneath them.

They crash down. Rafe's shoulder takes the brunt against the splintered stone. John B lands with a heavy thud nearby. Above, voices shout in panic.

"JB!" Sarah's voice is sharp. "Baby, are you okay?!"

John B groans and rolls onto his back.

Rafe peels himself off the floor, still cradling Sofia. "You good?"

She blinks, dazed. "Yeah. You?"

He winces, shoulder aching. Sofia notices immediately. Her fingers brush along his wrist as she checks for injury. There's nothing visible, but the pain pulses deep.

"Y'all alright?" Pope calls from above. The girls peer down around him, faces tight with concern.

John B lets out a long breath. "Just deciding if I regret everything or not."

Sofia pats the poor guy's arm in comfort. The three of them rise slowly. Sofia brushes the dust off her shorts, then off Rafe's shirt. Sunlight cuts through the cracks in the wall, catching the cloud of dust suspended in the air, sparkly, almost greyish-brown.

"There are some boxes," John B says, nudging Rafe. Together, they start stacking crates.

They're old and splintered. Rafe's shoulder protests the whole way through, but they manage—with some help and a few light laughs at their expense.

Sofia's hand grazes the back of his neck as he lifts her up. Pope helps her scale the rest of the way to the second floor. Eventually, everyone's back where they intended, minus one staircase.

"Let's get outta this shithole before it completely collapses on us," Rafe mutters.

No one disagrees.

As they exit the blown-out hole in the stone wall, a city stretches before them in the valley made up of buildings and abodes, with streets made of rough, moss-covered cobblestone.

They scale down the six-foot drop back to solid earth. 

"It's like with every lost city, they just get more and more extravagant," Sarah says, her voice soft with awe.

Yeah. No shit.

Rafe doesn't respond, but he's thinking it. Thinking about many things, honestly, like how? Why? And why them?

This discovery isn't like the others, even if it's now their—what… third one?

No one disagrees. Rafe certainly doesn't. He stands frozen, boots half-sunk in damp moss and uneven cobblestone, eyes sweeping across the expanse of the forgotten settlement. Awe isn't a strong enough word anymore. The cities they'd stumbled upon before had felt like relics—stone ruins swallowed by the wilderness, whispers of something that once was. But this?

This was once a city. Even a grand city for historic times.

Tucked between two mountains and shrouded in rainforest, it somehow still resembles lives once lived. Towering facades carved from limestone and plaster. Archways and columns warped by time, yet still upright. Cobblestone streets that, if cleared, might still lead somewhere.

Archways, towers, and narrow streets carved out of weather-worn stone. Whole buildings—some with wooden shutters barely clinging on. The facades faded over time from the sun. It appears that someone has dropped a European village into the rainforest and forgotten to inform the locals. And yet, the Mayan bones remain prevalent. You can feel it. In the angles. The carvings. The way the glyphs they’ve come in contact with sneak their way around the foundations of it all.

"There's a ton of Spanish influence," Sofia states. Her voice is quiet. "It's like a mixture of both."

He catches sight of a signpost near her. The wood is rotting, the paint faded, but underneath the Spanish script are unmistakable glyphs—carved deep, untouched. The Spanish hadn't scrubbed it all out.

"The Spanish colonization started in the 15th century," Pope says, flipping his book open. "Would make sense that any city they built with the Mayans would take on a certain European feel."

"So everything leads to a lost Spanish city in the Mexican rainforest," John B sighs. "Are we even on the right track then? Where are the Cenotes?"

"I think so," Pope answers, eyes still scanning the pages.

Rafe walks toward the building that the sign points to. Its front wall is collapsed, vegetation spilling through every crack. The stench of rot hits his nose.

Inside, it's trashed—tables splintered, green walls peeled down to stone. A shelf caved in under the weight of bottles or tools.

"A pub," Kiara says, stepping beside him.

"Looks like it," Rafe mutters, struck by the thought that this was once full of life. People drank here. Laughed. Fought. Maybe danced. Now, it's just… this.

Sarah claps lightly. "Much like before, all we can do is explore."

And they do.

They fan out, investigating crumbling homes and sunken courtyards. Imagining what once was.

A courtyard opens ahead, stone pavers cracked and overtaken by roots. A fountain sits dry in the center. Statues broken or defaced surround it. One headless. Another bears a crude cross carved into its chest.

Someone was mad.

He lingers near one of the facades, washed out from the sun, now peeling and eroded from rain. Through a warped window, he sees more ruins of a home. Plates left on a shelf. A hammock sagging with rot. A child's toy maybe—wooden, carved into something animal-shaped—tucked under debris.

Everything was still as if it had been abandoned mid-step.

What the fuck happened here?

He exhales through his nose and drags his hand across a mossy archway. It feels like walking through someone else's memory. Someone else's unfinished life.

Further down the road, Pope calls something out. Kiara disappears around a corner. Sarah's voice echoes off the stones as if she's narrating a walking tour. But Rafe lingers behind.

There's something about this place. The stillness. The way the vines seem to claw over everything like the jungle's trying to erase it. Swallow the past whole.

He wipes sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. His eyes catch on something in the distance—a crumbling bell tower. The cross at its peak leans sideways, half-snapped. But beneath it, etched faintly into the stone, are glyphs. Faint, yet still visible.

Sofia brushes past him, eyes sharp and searching.

He follows without a word.

The city begins to shift around them. The buildings are different here. Streets widen. Stonework smooths. The walls stand straighter. The vines still cling to everything, but here, they feel less like decay and more like decoration. Nature hasn't quite won yet.

The bell tower reappears, looming high above them now. Its cracked silhouette leans over the plaza, the snapped cross dangling crooked from its peak. And just beneath it, tucked off-center on a small rise sits a house.

Intriguing.

It's larger than the others. Stone steps lead to a wide, weathered front. Two stories. The window frames are twice the height of the others they've seen. The iron gate stands ajar, warped and rusting. The doors are stripped of paint, left raw by the sun. Vines claw their way halfway up the walls. What remains of the colored glass above the entry glints in the sunlight, casting broken patches of red and green across the moss-covered stone.

Rafe slows without thinking.

The others start to slow down as well.

Kiara steps up beside him. "This place looks like it held up fairly well."

Pope's already veering off the path. "We hope."

Sarah doesn't wait. She claps her hands once more and backs away from them. "Well, if now one’s willing to go first."

She pushes through the gate. Her boots crunch over damp ground as she steps inside.

The rest follow, wordlessly, one by one, into the musty structure.

———————————————

The floors creak with each step. A cool, damp draft drifts in through the broken windows and the open door, raising goose bumps along Sofia's exposed skin. Critters and spiders have long since moved in—cobwebs claim the corners, and mud nests cling to cracked stone.

The only sounds are the sounds of breathing, boots scuffing the dirt, and the occasional groan of warped wood. No one talks. Everyone watches where they step.

Rafe shoulders open a tall, split-plank door ahead of them. The wood is dark with age but carved with careful, spiraling patterns that slow her steps just to take them in.

The room he reveals is massive.

The ceiling arches two stories up, wooden beams crisscrossing overhead. Thick window frames line the far wall, letting streaks of gold sunlight cut across terracotta tile, dull with dust but still warm in color. The floor's layered in grime, sure, but the bones of the space are intact. It's the kind of home someone would've killed to live in once.

The walls are lined with paintings and old wooden shelves, some of which are built directly into the stone. Tall candelabras lean with age. Busts and hand-carved figurines perch in the corners. The craftsmanship is still visible beneath the grime—an entire history clinging to the walls, trying not to be forgotten.

"This room's unreal," Sarah breathes.

John B huffs in agreement. "Could you imagine living here?"

Cleo pipes up, "Yeah, compared to the outskirts of town and the decay out there? This is where the Richie Rich lived."She looks around, wide-eyed. "What lucky bastards."

"There's some valuable stuff here," Pope adds, nudging something near the fireplace with the back of his hand.

Sofia looks over. It's a statue—tucked into a built-in alcove, maybe two feet tall. The figure is carved from dark wood, polished in places, and faded in others. Looks like a woman. Or perhaps a deity. Hard to tell. The face is elongated, eyes almond-shaped, and her hands pressed together at her chest.

Not quite Mayan. Not quite European. A blend. Like everything else here.

She steps closer. Gold leaf still clings to the base, and more is inlaid along the robe—symbols tucked into the folds of the carving. Some of the paint's worn to bare wood, but the detail holds: tiny jaguar paws at her feet, sun rays curling around her head like a halo.

"She a saint?" Sarah asks, tilting her head.

"Maybe," Sofia murmurs, lingering for a beat before moving deeper into the room. She skirts past John B and Kiara, who are standing near a curved, low-slung couch. The shape is unfamiliar but beautiful in the way old things often are. The fabric's rotted in places, eaten away by moisture, but the foundation is solid. Wooden legs carved with spiraling vines and geometric flares—possibly Mayan. Possibly Spanish. Maybe both.

"Real fancy for the middle of a jungle," John B mutters, brushing dust off the armrest. Threads snap and float in the light.

Kiara flips up one of the cushions and then grimaces. "Ugh. Something definitely died in there."

Sofia keeps moving.

There's more: high-backed chairs with velvet still clinging in faded red. A carved desk pushed into the corner, its drawers half-open. One has a brass handle shaped like a coiled serpent. Another drawer sits off its track as if someone had opened it in a hurry and never fixed it.

She rests her hand on a nearby cabinet. The wood is cool beneath her fingertips. The doors are inlaid with tile—bright colors dulled by years of dust. A pattern of birds and stars. Inside, a single ceramic bowl sits on the top shelf. Cracked. Untouched.

None of it feels random. It's curated. Intentional. Someone lived here with taste. With resources. With power. And they didn't bother hiding it.

"I could've totally fit in here," John B jokes, propping one foot up on the raised fireplace of sorts and resting his elbow on the mantle like he's posing for a painting.

"You know, they wore breeches back then," Sofia says.

The group laughs.

"I can only imagine that," Sarah breathes, laughing. Sofia even catches Rafe's eye roll and the small chuckle that follows.

John B swings a playful jab at Pope, who cackles and ducks out of reach.

"I'd fucking rock some 15th-century shit," John B grins.

"Boy does have the bone structure," Cleo adds, deadpan.

"Okay, okay," John B laughs. "I get it."

The laughter dies down as Sofia rounds the far corner of the room. Her eyes trail upward.

A mural spans nearly fifteen feet up the wall.

She stops. Stares.

"Pope," she calls.

"Yeah?" The Pogue straightens, already curious.

"Come look at this."

Rafe moves up beside her, resting his forearm gently on her shoulder, gaze following hers.

The painting is vivid even against the dirt-streaked walls—reds and blues, sun-faded greens and yellows, oranges, and purples still holding life. The style is unmistakable.

Mayan artists. No doubt. The scene depicts the creation of a stone amulet—the very one Pope's been wearing like a necklace since they breached the walls of this ancient place.

"Whoa," Pope says, stepping closer.

"Are we sure that's the same one?" Sarah asks, eyes flicking between the painting and the artifact dangling around Pope's neck.

He lifts it gently. Let's them all look.

Same markings. Same pattern. Same swirls and glyphs.

If it's not the real one in the mural… it's a damn close replica.

"How in the fuck?" Kiara breathes. "We've literally found ourselves in history."

"And," John B adds, "the prize is to live forever."

"Or stop a lunatic from getting so-called eternal life," Rafe mutters, shifting slightly against her.

"Don't believe it's possible? To live forever?" Pope asks.

Rafe exhales through his nose. "You really think a pool of water can grant everlasting life?"

"We've seen some crazy things," Sarah argues.

"Nothing that defied nature," he counters. "Nothing supernatural."

"Well," Kiara says, squinting at the mural beside them, "only one way to find out."

"You gonna jump in?" Cleo jests.

"Still deciding," Kiara replies sarcastically, her tone distant.

"Where to next?" Rafe finally asks. His arm drapes loosely around Sofia's shoulders, pulling her close. She slips her hand over his wrist, watching the others contemplate their next move.

"A whole city of the unknown," Cleo says.

"Maybe if we get higher ground, we can spot something of interest," Pope suggests.

"The bell tower," Sofia says, voice quiet but certain.

"You think it's stable after all this time?" Sarah asks.

John B shrugs. "Looked pretty intact still."

"We hope," Kiara says as they make their way out of the house and back toward the tower, just fifteen yards away.

————————————

Next part: Coming soon

[ren14554]

*Want to start from the beginning? Chapter 1

Eternal

Chapter 25: Bat Caves

They sneak back through the city's outskirts until they find themselves where they started. This time, though, the crack in the wall is open. The door that had once seemed fused into the stone now hangs slightly ajar.

No sign of the others.

Pope fumbles for the walkie and shifts the channel.

"Cleo… JB…” A beat of silence. "Sarah?"

Static.

Sofia glances around, uneasy, catching the same worried flicker in Kiara's eyes.

"Pope."

Pope nearly jumps. It's John B.

"Where are you guys?"

More static. Then John B's voice again: "Is it clear?"

"Seemingly," Pope replies, "We're back at the gate."

"Be there in a minute."

The line cuts out.

"Well, at least we're making progress," Kiara says.

"Something like that," Rafe mutters. He doesn't realize how tight his grip is on his pack strap until Sofia reaches over, gently pulls his hand away, and laces her fingers through his. His hand relaxes in hers without thinking.

A few minutes and a handful of tense rustles later, the others appear around the bend.

"Thank god you guys are okay," Sarah says, breath catching as she takes them all in.

"We thought something might've happened," John B adds. "Sarah was about two seconds from storming back in."

"Good thing you didn't," Kiara answers. "Once we figured out the puzzle, Dalia's men started sweeping in."

"Hopefully they're too distracted trying to piece together what we triggered to notice this thing opened," Rafe says, nodding to the cracked wall behind them.

They all look up at the now-open gate. The trail beyond it is clear. Overgrown, sure, but definitely a path, faint beneath the jungle overgrowth, but distinct.

"The only way out is forward," Pope says, already moving.

They don't argue.

They leave the second lost city behind, slipping back into the thick of the jungle. The air is heavy again. Bugs hum low around them. Nobody talks much.

After nearly an hour, they reach a narrow rope bridge swaying over a deep crevice—nothing massive, but enough to make your stomach drop. It stretches to a crack in the rock face ahead—an opening barely wide enough to count as a doorway. A cave carved into the side of a mountain.

At the start of the bridge, a sign—older and nearly swallowed by vines—leans crooked in the dirt, almost choked out by green.

Rafe steps forward and starts ripping the vines away. The letters underneath come into view, weathered but clear:

Que sea conocido por todos los que buscan, pues el camino hacia la maravilla está sembrado de ruina. Muchos han comenzado este viaje, pero pocos han regresado. Proceded con cautela, porque el sendero adelante es peligroso. Mas si lográis vencer, aquello que yace más allá será vuestro para reclamar.

Sofia translates. 

"Let it be known to all who seek—for the road to wonder is paved with ruin. Many have begun this journey, but few have returned. Proceed with caution—"Sofia pauses, breath hitching slightly, "—for the path ahead is treacherous. Yet, should you prevail, that which lies beyond will be yours to claim."

She hesitates on the last part. Her voice drops.

"Ser grande o perecer," her voice softens, "Be great or perish."

The silence that follows is thick.

Rafe trails his hand down her arm, finds her hand again, and squeezes. She leans into him without hesitation.

"Well… hopefully we'll be great," John B offers with a half-smile, "cause I'd rather not perish."

No one laughs.

Sofia doesn't take her eyes off the sign. "We're not the first…"

John B looks over. "What do you mean?"

"This is Spanish," she says slowly. "Perfect Spanish. This isn't ancient. Someone's been here before. And they wanted to leave a warning."

Sarah wipes sweat from her forehead. "Too late to back out now."

No one disagrees.

They start across the bridge.

It sways immediately, ropes tugging with each step. Below—sharp rock, glittering with moisture, vanishing into shadow. One wrong move and it's a long way down.

On the other side, the cave looms taller than it first appeared—its entrance wide enough for them to pass single-file. Darker than expected. They click on their flashlights against it, the stark difference between the afternoon sun outside and the near darkness inside startling.

The moment they cross the threshold, a gust of movement erupts from above.

Bats. Dozens of them. Maybe more.

The group ducks instinctively as leathery wings flap around them. Kiara shouts, batting one away as it swoops too close. Pope nearly slips, but Rafe grabs the back of his shirt, steadying him.

"Jesus—" Pope breathes out.

"The Mayans named it accurately," Rafe's voice echoes.

They press deeper in, flashlights casting long, warped shadows. The cave narrows in places, forcing them to duck or turn sideways to squeeze through. Stalactites hang from the ceiling. In one corner, something scurries fast enough that no one sees what it is.

Somewhere further in, the air starts to change, warm and stifling.

Ominous and unnerving.

~~~~~

The cave is dark and damp. Water runs somewhere unseen, its steady drip… drip… drip echoing through the hollow silence.

She wishes she could turn around and go back. But that wouldn't be any smarter than pushing forward.

"Well," John B says ahead of them, "we've got our first test of bravery, it seems."

Pope surges forward—along with, well, most of them.

There's a pit. It stretches about, and when Sofia chances a look over the edge, there's nothing but black. A void. No floor in sight. Just a drop into god knows what.

Wonderful.

The only path forward is a narrow ten-foot ledge hugging the wall. Crumbled in places—maybe from age, maybe not. Doesn't matter. It looks unstable either way.

"Who goes first?" Rafe mutters next to her, eyes still locked on the pit.

"I can," John B offers quickly.

Sarah's face twists toward him. "Are you sure? There's gotta be another way."

"Not from the map," Pope cuts in.

"It's okay," John B assures. "One by one. Go slow."

"What about our packs?" Kiara rightfully questions. 

Rafe shuffles his pack off, testing its weight before suddenly flinging it across the crevasse. Sofia almost loses her breath in anxiety until his pack rumbles to a stop on the other side. 

"Well, that's one way," Sarah remarks with a raised eyebrow. It's not long before Rafe and John B have everyone thrown far across the gap. It's one less thing they have to worry about, and Sofia can't complain—at least not yet.

No one fights what comes next. Not really. John B goes first, like he said. Sarah goes behind him, then Cleo. Pope and Rafe quietly agree to take up the rear.

"This is fucking diabolical," Cleo breathes out, pressing flat to the rough cave wall, her feet sliding carefully along the same jagged ledge.

Sofia follows. She glances down again. Nothing but darkness. She briefly meets Rafe's eyes before turning against the wall, pressing her hands flat, and inching sideways. One step. Then another. Her feet barely cling to the crumbling path. She follows Cleo ahead of her, while Kiara shuffles up behind her when there's space.

Her flashlight swings wildly from her wrist, the movement throwing dizzying circles along the cave walls and across the pit. Every step makes her stomach tighten. Every scrape of a boot edge echoes too loudly.

One wrong move, and—

"Almost there," John B calls from the front.

Sofia just hopes Rafe, taking up the back like some jaded hero, doesn't try anything reckless. Being two people away from him, there's nothing she can do to help him. Not that she could probably help anyway.

"Just a bit farther," John B says again. "I see the other side. Ledge's a bit wobbly here, just be careful."

"Comforting," Rafe grumbles.

Her anxiety starts to settle when John B announces he's made it. Sarah follows right behind, and Cleo—

A scream.

Right next to her.

Sofia reacts before she processes it, her arm snapping out to catch Cleo as the other girl stumbles. A massive chunk of the ledge crumbles under her feet, falling away into the pit. Cleo's nails dig deep into Sofia's forearm, and her body shifts dangerously away from the wall. Kiara's arm comes around, too, pressing hard into Sofia's abdomen, helping keep them all upright.

Light floods the moment—John B's flashlight sweeping from the far side, where he's found solid ground. His face is pale. Frozen. His brain looks to be scrambling.

It's Sarah who moves. She's still close enough to reach.

"Sarah," John B warns automatically, instinctively.

Cleo's free hand scrabbles against the rock, trying to find anything to hold onto. Her left foot plants awkwardly beside Sofia's right, barely hanging on.

Sarah leans down and grabs Cleo's flailing arm, anchoring her as best she can.

Sofia feels the fear vibrating through Cleo's body, so her grip tightens. She won't let go. Kiara braces harder next to her.

"Cleo, can you get up?" Pope's voice is laced with panic. He tries to push forward, but Kiara holds firm, stopping him from making it worse.

"Stop pushing." Kiara directs back to both boys.

"We're trying," Sarah snaps in unison.

With the help of both of them—Sofia anchoring, Sarah pulling—Cleo manages to shift her weight back up, legs stretched awkwardly across the now-broken section of ledge. Sarah nods once at Sofia. Wordless thanks. Sofia loosens her grip just enough for Sarah to guide Cleo fully onto the stable ledge.

Not once do they let go of each other.

Sofia breathes, finally turning just enough to shoot Kiara a grateful glance, catching the flicker of relief across Rafe's face.

She sizes up the gap. Four feet now, maybe. Not terrible under normal conditions, but here, with jagged rock at her back and black nothingness below?

It's the worst.

Cleo's already crouched across the gap, arm outstretched again. John B's behind her now, bracing her, just in case.

All Sofia can do is go for it.

She takes Cleo's wrist and feels the immediate squeeze of fingers curling around hers.

A breath in. Then one out. Shaky.

She steps.

Her foot hits the other ledge unsteadily, but there's no time to overthink. She pushes off, Cleo steadying her, and John B helping too.

And just like that—she's across. Feet solid on stone.

She doesn't hesitate. Turns and reaches back.

One by one, they help the others across. Kiara. Pope. Finally, Rafe.

And only when they're off the ledge and all back together, some crouched, some hunched, some catching their breath, does the relief hit.

It's dizzying.

"I don't wanna go back this way ever again," Cleo mutters, breathing raggedly.

Pope rubs a hand along her back. "You won't have to," he says.

Sofia doesn't blame her.

Rafe's hand finds her wrist. Gently turns it up toward the light. Red scratches bloom across her skin, raw and angry, some dotted with blood.

"Shit," he mutters.

"Sorry," Cleo breathes.

Sofia just shakes her head, smiling softly. "Don't worry about it. I would've done the same."

~~~~~

The deeper they get, down into the depths of this mountain, the cooler it gets, the water in the rocks causing goosebumps to litter her exposed skin. Luckily, she packed Rafe's sweatshirt, to which he gives her a playful glare.

She'll return it when they're back in North Carolina… maybe.

A few minutes later, their flashlights catch faint carvings etched into the old granite, partially worn away but still visible. Protected all this time by how deep they are. Who had the patience for all this? No one comments, but do they even need to? This entire place is both awe-inspiring and confusing at the same time.

They keep going, carefully. One by one, squeezing through another tight crevice until they enter it: a chamber. Small. Vaguely round. Light barely makes it this far, a shaft from somewhere high above casting only a sliver of orange. They still need their flashlights to see anything.

In the center lies a raised stone platform that juts crudely out of the floor—or what you could call a floor, considering it shifts slightly beneath their feet, like stepping onto something suspended in water. Sofia has half a mind to turn back to the uneven rock.

Around the outer edges of the metal floor, nine pedestals are evenly spaced. One is so chipped and crumbled that it almost doesn't resemble the others except for the metal rod protruding from its top, capped with a warped disk.

"What is this place?" Pope shines his flashlight up, curious.

Cleo scans the walls, which are littered with the same types of symbols they saw earlier. Kiara edges toward one of the pedestals and investigates, while the rest follow suit.

"Something out of a movie."

"They seriously had too much time on their hands."

"No kidding. I wish I had the patience for all this. It's too elaborate for what I imagine life was like back then."

"They were one of the most advanced civilizations," Pope says. "I can only imagine what they built over centuries."

"Well, this is what they've got for us now." Sofia shivers lightly. "The quicker we figure it out, the quicker we can get out of this place."

"Uh, guys," Sarah calls out, flashlight trained downward, "there is definitely a pit. And there are most definitely skeletons."

They rush over. Flashlight beams reveal old, broken bones and still-intact bodies at the bottom. Dozens of them. None fresh—thank God—but no less unsettling for the obvious nature of their demise. Sofia tries not to imagine joining them.

“Fuck,” Rafe mutters. "If we're not careful…"

"Yeah," Sarah answers. "We get it."

"So is this like…" Kiara carefully eyes one of the pedestals. "One wrong move and we fall to our deaths?"

"Hopefully not," Cleo says. "I'd rather not have this be my last memory on earth. Trapped in a damp old bat cave with you lot." Sofia catches the smirk playing at her mouth. It's endearing.

Sweet, even.

John B adds, "Sofia's right. Let's just figure it out and get out. I've got a bad feeling there's a timer running we can't see."

"How, though?" Sofia questions, stepping up beside Kiara as the taller woman runs her fingertips across a pedestal.

"They're…" Kiara presses one. Nothing happens. "Buttons." It clicks, then pops back out.

"Is there a pattern, like with the tiles?" Sofia tests another. Same outcome.

"Recycle the puzzle?" Pope asks, testing one himself. It also resets. "Doesn't seem likely."

Suddenly, the floor jolts. Kiara braces softly against Sofia, whose hand slams onto the nearest pedestal to catch her balance. Somewhere behind the rock, gears try to engage, then still. The sound of disturbed bats flapping overhead sets all their nerves on edge.

"What the fuck, Rafe?"

Sofia whirls around just as Rafe glares at John B. He's standing near the center platform.

"What'd you do?" Cleo asks.

Rafe shrugs. "Just…" He presses his foot onto the stone platform. It sinks. The grinding returns for a moment before settling as he steps off. The platform resets.

"A pressure plate," Pope breathes, joining him to try it. Same result.

"Wait," Sarah says, glancing at one of the pedestals, "do it again."

Rafe presses back on.

"The symbol lights up," Sarah notes.

She's not wrong. All eight pedestals alight, their various symbols glowing in the dim light, casting a faint glow around their spots in the room. The ninth one is so broken that the light instead shoots up into the air in a straight beam. 

He tries again. Sure enough, each pedestal glows.

"What the hell?"

"So this activates them all." Rafe taps the stone with his boot. "Who's standing on it?"

No one volunteers.

"It's okay," Rafe says with a dramatic eye roll. "Let me."

"Maybe we should discuss it," Sarah offers.

"It's fine." He throws a glance Sofia's way. "I can stand still."

She knows it's his attempt at a joke. It still drops like lead in her stomach from their current predicament.

Rafe still steps up. The platform sinks. The room hums. Symbols glow. Machinery stirs. Then settles.

"Okay…" John B swallows. "Now what?"

Cleo presses one of the lit-up symbols. It retracts into the pedestal.

"That easy?"

John B presses the skull. It clicks in. Kiara follows suit.

Just as Sofia reaches for another, tremors start. The floor shakes. Another loud pop echoes, followed by the sound of trickling dust and rock shifting. The ground beneath them gives a jolt.

"Don't press anything else!" John B calls, grabbing at Pope and Sarah.

The center of the floor begins to cave in, a split forming down the middle. Rafe's platform sinks. The buttons reset, and the glow remains, but the optimism in the room doesn't.

"We did it in the wrong order," Kiara mutters.

"So don't press the one Pope did third," Sarah notes, moving toward Cleo's pedestal.

"Wait," Cleo says, stopping her. She points at faint words carved into the stone. "We should probably be more careful."

"What does it say?" Sofia asks.

Cleo reads, "He who stands in place of the sun shall not sink alone. Three signs mark the cycle. Only those who honor it, shall pass."

A tense beat of silence.

Rafe scoffs. "Well, I think I'm standing on said sun."

Sofia flicks her light downward. A faint sun symbol rests beneath Rafe's boots.

"Three signs…" she echoes, scanning the pedestals. "One of these is a spiral. Another… an owl? Or maybe a bear?"

"This one looks like a bird," Sarah adds.

They call out the rest: a skull, a rising sun, a snake, corn, a circle, and—according to Kiara—what remains of the broken pedestal is a hand.

"So the clue says 'three signs mark the cycle,'" Pope says. "We need to figure out which three."

"Cycle of life?" Sarah suggests.

"It's gotta be specific to Mayan culture," Sofia says. "Not just a general metaphor."

"And the riddle's in English. "In what world would the Mayans write their messages in English?" John B adds. "That part still bugs me."

Sarah gestures toward the pit. "Maybe someone left it… for the next group. Or whoever made it this far."

Pope rips open his backpack. "Hang on. That book I bought…"

"The overpriced one with the weird cover?" Rafe deadpans.

"Yeah, that one. Shut up." Pope flips through it as Sofia peers over his shoulder. "Okay, okay… Mayan cycles… here we go. Life, death, rebirth. Three significant deities in Mayan mythology— the Maize God, Cizin, and Ix Chel."

"Corn makes sense then," Sarah states, standing beside the glowing symbol. 

"Skull is death," John B adds matter-of-factly.

"Okay," Kiara finalizes, "which one fits rebirth the best?" 

Rafe calls out.. "The bird thing and bear or whatever are nixed—"

Sarah cuts in, "And the snake." 

"— and the snake." He finishes with agreement.

"That leaves spiral, circle, rising sun, hand," Cleo tallies.

"I say we cut the spiral and hand," John B votes.

"The rising sun could mean rebirth," Kiara offers. "The start of a new day. Fresh slate?"

"Okay." Sarah agrees. She presses the corn stalk button. John B and Kiara follow suit. With all three pressed, they wait.

A clunk echoes, then more rumbling. This time it's jolting. Sofia braces against one of the pedestals, feet scrambling for purchase as the floor begins to cave in again. The gap this time widens to nearly a foot, and the metal grows harder to balance on, angling inward beneath their weight.

"We need to think this through," Cleo urges as the sounds finally settle.

"No shit," Rafe grunts, now looking like he's stranded on a shrinking island—the floor that once supported the pressure plate tilting down, a clear warning of what'll happen if they get it wrong again.

"So we rethink our approach."

"Yeah," Kiara says. "We rethink quickly, cause I'm pretty sure we're about to join our long-gone colleagues down in the pit."

Sofia's eyes dart around as the group starts bickering under the pressure. Her gaze lands on the guidebook, half-rolled and sticking out of Pope's back pocket.

"Can I?" she asks, nodding toward it. It takes Pope a second to register, but he nods and tosses it over. She snatches it from the air with ease.

She flips straight to the index. Finds what she's looking for: Mayan Glyphs. Skims the listed pages until one catches her eye.

"Must be the circle then…" she murmurs, narrowing her eyes at the symbol glowing faintly next to Cleo.

"The circle means rebirth?" John B asks, not sounding convinced.

Sofia double-checks the page. "Ix Chel is the Goddess of the Moon. Usually depicted as a single circle. She also represents fertility... and is often shown as the cycle of life, death, and rebirth."

"Okay," Cleo says, stepping carefully closer to the pedestal housing the circle. "So we try the circle."

"If it's wrong—" Sarah begins, trying to keep her footing.

"Not much we can do about that at this point," Rafe cuts her off. He glances around. "Let's try it."

A beat of tense silence.

Then John B says carefully, "On three, we press them together?"

They all nod. Cleo readies herself at the circle. John B and Pope hover their hands over the skull and corn, respectively. Sarah clutches Sofia's hand, which is already sweaty. At the same time, Sofia grips the stone pedestal next to her with her other hand. Boots anchored, hearts racing.

Sofia sends a silent prayer. For her. For Rafe. For all of them.

The three press their symbols.

The chamber shifts.

Grinding. Trembling. The buttons hold. The stone beneath Rafe begins to rise. The floor follows, inching back into place as the noise startles the bats above them into a new frenzy.

A long groan of shifting stone echoes through the space.

One of the walls begins to move, dust spilling in ribbons as a new opening reveals itself behind the moon symbol.

They all exhale at once. Sofia lets out her breath like she's been holding it for years.

"We're in," John B says.

"Let's move," Cleo agrees, reaching for her flashlight. "Especially before something decides to give way again."

No one argues.

They pass through the narrow opening, leaving that trial and near-death trap behind them.

They only trek for another five minutes, flashlights guiding the way, until faint light begins to filter in. Moonlight. Cool and silver, guiding them out. Fitting, considering the moon symbol had saved their lives.

They pause for a moment when they finally break into the open air. The moonlight casts long shadows through the trees, and the faint sounds of animals flutter somewhere in the dark beyond.

"We need to camp again," Pope says. "I thought we would've made it to the end of the map by now, but… everything definitely held us back longer than I anticipated."

"Think we'll make it wherever we're going tomorrow?"

Pope exhales. "I hope so."

No one pushes him for more. They let it sit, even if it's not the answer they want. The group falls quiet again, working together to set up the rest of the camp.

Traumatized and tired but still alive. 

Still together.

————————————

Next part: Chapter 26

[ren14554]

*Want to start from the beginning? Chapter 1

Eternal

Chapter 24: Puzzling Discoveries

They weave between narrow doorways, through darkened rooms just big enough to fit four or five people. And it’s the one of the last doorways that leads them into the first truly open space.

Looking up, Sofia can just make out the top of the structure's interior. It ends in a high, shadowed point. The air is damp. Musty even. The kind that clings to her skin and makes her want to itch. Or maybe that's the scattering of bugs, disturbed by the first human movement this place has seen probably in centuries.

Her gaze moves, drawn by the quiet awe of the others—each one now staring at the far wall.

Hundreds, maybe thousands, of multicolored tiles stretch across it, fitted together like some ancient mosaic. There are cracks and chipped corners. Faint smudges of dirt swirled up by the environments subtle encroachment. But even beneath all the decay, the wall is striking, organized into a loose grid.

"Fuck," Rafe says, eyes climbing the wall. "What is it?"

"Great question," Kiara replies.

Sofia steps forward, reaching out, her fingers brushing across a few tiles. The surface is rough with age. Somehow it feels ancient, if that’s even possible. "Definitely a puzzle," she murmurs. "A better question is, how do we solve it?"

Rafe steps closer, head tilting up. The wall towers above her boyfriend, tiles stretching higher than he can reach.

"What if I—" Sofia presses a tile, and it sinks into the wall with a dull click.

Behind her, Pope's voice jumps in alarm. "What did you just do?"

She turns slightly, shrugging. "I pressed a button?"

Pope scans the room like he's expecting poison darts or a collapsing ceiling. "What if that releases toxic gas and kills us?"

"Or," Kiara cuts in, "it's just a button."

"I smell nothing out of the ordinary," Sofia adds, dry as ever.

"We're dealing with ancient Mayans here, Kie," Pope mutters. "Death might not be as obvious as you'd expect."

"Well, nothing's happened, and we've been talking for more than ten seconds," Rafe says, standing beside Sofia. His eyes stay locked on the pressed tile, but his hand drifts down, settling lightly at the small of her back.

She finds it comforting. Grounds her.

"What if we—" Rafe presses another tile. It clicks into place.

Then, it pops back out. Hers does the same.

Sofia exhales, annoyed. "Perfect."

"There's gotta be an order to it then," Pope mutters, more intrigued now than scared. He steps forward, pressing the same tile Sofia did. It clicks again, holding in place. “What that is, is lost to me.”

She takes a step back to study the whole thing. "There are hundreds of tiles. We're not guessing our way through this."

"Maybe another room has a clue," Kiara offers. "Like back at Uxmal." Before anyone can respond, she disappears down a nearby hall.

Sofia's eyes are still on the wall, taking in the size of it. Their effort snow feel worthless the deeper they go, a feeling that they’re still so far from the endgame of it all settling in.

"In what world would the Mayans have had time to build something like this?" she murmurs.

"Too much, it seems," Pope replies.

Beside her, Rafe lets out a low chuckle. "If Indiana Jones taught me anything, it's that if you want to hide something that could change the fabric of society, you bury it behind a puzzle."

Sofia rolls her eyes. She leans closer to the tiles, searching for any detail that might stand out. Colors. Symbols. Patterns. Anything.

She kind of wishes it was a snake. At least then, it might bite her with the answer.

"I think I found something," Kiara calls out from deeper in the ruins, a few rooms away.

"Something that actually helps us?" Rafe replies, voice low and skeptical. Sofia reaches out and lightly smacks his stomach with the back of her hand.

"There are constellations scattered on the walls in here," Kiara calls, tone curious, almost excited.

"What do you see?" Sofia calls back.

"I can't really… I can't really read it," Kiara admits. "But they've got tile patterns next to them."

"All of them?" Pope asks with a tinge of unease in his voice.

"Just about. There's gotta be…" Kiara trails off, clearly in awe. "Like thirty constellations scattered in here."

Sofia doesn't need to see her to know Kiara is grinning.

"Let's try it," Rafe says.

Sofia glances over. "Try what?"

"The patterns there… they've gotta match something here."

"She said there are tons of them," Sofia replies. "How do we even know where to start?"

Rafe doesn't answer. He just reaches up and presses a tile directly above the one she'd triggered earlier. It clicks—and stays. A soft glow hums from the stone, dim but unmistakable. The two tiles glisten faintly in the room's low light.

"It's all in…" Kiara calls again, "Mayan?"

"Would make sense," Pope sighs.

"They're definitely ones I've seen before," Kiara confirms. "This one is Orion's Belt. One hundred percent."

"What does Orion's Belt look like again?" Rafe groans.

Sofia can practically hear Kiara roll her eyes. "Literally three dots in almost a straight line."

Sofia tries again, pressing the tile to the left of the two already glowing.

They all pop back out and the lights vanish.

"Dammit," she mutters.

"What about the one to the right?" Pope offers. He hits the original two, then a third with the same result. They reset.

"So…" Rafe tips his head back in frustration. The momentary hope deflates from his expression.

"There are like six rough quadrants on this wall," Pope starts.

Kiara shouts again, "Mine have symbols next to them. This one's a dot with a line beneath it—"

Pope snaps his fingers loudly, suddenly animated. He darts to the far end of the wall, scanning a specific section. "That symbol is here," he calls back. "Bottom left corner."

Sofia moves toward him, eyes narrowing. The symbol is embedded in one of the corner tiles—a dot above a vertical line, just like Kiara described.

"Okay, the grid is emphasizing tiles on various rows and columns," Kiara calls. She recites fifteen tiles.

Pope nods to himself, then presses the first tile. It sinks into the wall with a soft glow. He moves fast, tapping the rest. All of them stay lit.

"Anything else for this one?" Rafe asks.

"Not here," Kiara says. A few seconds pass before she calls out again. "There's another symbol here. It’s just a straight line."

Sofia perks up. "We've got that here," she answers, moving to a nearby grid section.

"This one depicts… I think it's the Little Dipper," Kiara calls. "Okay, there are at least twenty tiles depicted here."

"Call them out slowly," Sofia calls back, to which Kiara complies.

Sofia presses them one by one. All of the tiles stay lit, glowing a soft mix of colors.

They hold their breath.

"What's happening?" Kiara calls.

"Nothing," Rafe says flatly. "What the fuck is the point? We could sit here for hours or move on."

"But this is the key," Sofia argues. "The only way past that gate and away from Groff's goons is through this."

"She's right," Pope agrees. He shrugs at Rafe, unapologetic.

"This one's Scorpio," Kiara calls again.

"What is?" Pope asks, stepping closer to the wall.

Silence stretches for a few seconds before Kiara's voice carries again. "Is there a grid with four dots? In a loose arc?"

All their eyes scan quickly, zeroing in on one section.

"Yeah," Rafe calls back. "We've got that."

Kiara calls out the tile positions, and Rafe presses each tile, slower this time, and watches them light up. Still, nothing moves.

"Okay, now the four dots symbol again," Kiara continues rattling off more tile positions and their row and column locations, voice a little more rushed now. 

Sofia steps in, quickly matching the tiles. Her fingers move with confidence now. "They're lit," she says, breath tight in her chest. But again… silence.

"Okay," Kiara says. "There's another for the dot and line symbol. This one's definitely Gemini."

"Another?" Sofia echoes dejectedly.

"Yep. And this one has a—"

Suddenly, a low rumble sounds. The lit tiles shimmer, the glow intensifying for a moment before settling into a low, steady pulse.

"What was that?" Kiara's voice cuts in as she rushes back into the room beside them.

The tiles of the fourth quadrant stay lit, but something else is happening. Every tile across the wall, even the unlit ones, begins locking into place. A quiet series of thunks echo around the chamber as each square settles in with finality.

"We broke it," Pope mutters, eyes wide.

But no one moves. They just watch as the patterns they've been assembling come to life, colorful light rippling in faint waves across the ancient stone.

"It's Gemini," Kiara says softly now, more to herself than anyone else.

"So we made a horoscope?" Rafe snorts.

"No," Kiara corrects quickly. "They're all constellations."

“The Mayans studied the stars religiously. It tracks." Pope adds.

Sofia steps in closer to the wall. "So there are five more sections. We've already partially lit up four."

"That's the puzzle," Kiara says, energized now. "Each constellation has a symbol. That symbol matches a pattern of tiles. Find the right set, match it, and—"

"—light up the wall," Pope finishes for her.

"If we finish lighting every section—" Rafe starts.

"—which form constellations,” Kiara adds. “Maybe it opens something."

"The gate," Sofia says. Her voice is firm now. "Or at least something that helps us get to it."

The next fifteen minutes are a flurry of motion and concentration. Kiara calls out more constellations from the rooms she's exploring while Sofia, Pope, and Rafe work together pressing tiles. There are mistakes. A few accidental resets. One near-miss where Rafe's knuckle grazes the wrong tile and nearly undoes an entire quadrant.

But eventually—finally—every tile in the wall is lit.

Nine constellations glow in vibrant hues across the chamber. Red and green. Blue and violet. Yellow and pink and orange. Each one forms a clear celestial symbol carved into the ruin's wall. It's stunning. If they weren't racing against time, Sofia might've taken a minute to actually admire it.

Then the walkie crackles.

"Um." Cleo's voice filters in, staticky but urgent. "What did you guys just do?"

Pope scrambles for the walkie clipped to his belt. "What do you mean?"

A bit of static, then Cleo’s voice, "The door. It's opening. Slowly, but definitely moving."

They all exchange a look. A flash of relief. A breath of victory.

Pope keys the receiver button. "Good. We're heading back now."

"Be careful," Cleo replies quickly. "Dalia's men are moving again. We had to dip into a nearby old house. We'll hold off until you make it back. Love you."

"Love you too," Pope murmurs, tucking the device back into his back pocket. "Let's be quick—"

But the moment of calm doesn't last. A heavy bang echoes through the structure. Dust falls from above. And then there's light. Faint at first, filtering in from a break in the ceiling. Heavy footsteps pound on the stone stairs they’d descended themselves.

Rafe grabs her hand, yanking her toward the far wall to a crouch. They drop low against it. The stone is cold at her back, rough through her shirt. Rafe's grip doesn't ease.

Footsteps echo closer.

Sofia holds her breath. The glow from the wall still spills into the room—soft but noticeable. It paints Rafe's jaw in streaks of color. Reds and blues and golds flicker across his clenched jaw.

A flicker of awe hits her and a part of her wants to ghost her fingertips across the stubbly surface. Still, she buries the urge quickly beneath the current urgency.

Across the room, Pope gestures wildly toward a narrow side doorway. Sofia guesses it leads deeper inside. Or maybe out. Either way, it's away from here.

Rafe doesn't wait. He pulls her with him, following Kiara and Pope as they slip through the opening, staying low. Every footstep feels too loud.

They move fast. Quiet steps, shallow breaths, weaving from one tight room to the next. The deeper they go, the more the walls close in. The air grows heavier and hotter. Sofia keeps her steps light, her ears straining for anything—footsteps, voices, danger.

They stop abruptly.

A wall. A final room that presents them with a dead end.

"Fuck," Kiara breathes, barely louder than a whisper. She runs her hands along the edges like a secret door might be hidden in the seams. Sofia wants to do the same, to find something, but her pulse is already climbing and it’s buzzes her body uncomfortably.

"We can't go back," Rafe mutters.

"Walk right back to them?" Pope agrees, his voice low. "Yeah, no thanks."

"There has to be another way," Sofia says. "The Mayans didn't build tombs with one entrance and no exit."

"Not like there's a map," Kiara hisses, frustration bleeding into her voice.

The sounds behind them are closer now—footsteps. Murmured voices. A different language. Sofia doesn't know it, but it sounds vaguely Eastern European… maybe.

"Shit," Rafe seethes under his breath and they scramble. Pope checks one side of the room. Kiara checks another.

Sofia drops low, eyeing the base of the wall and that's when she sees a small crack. Barely noticeable unless you are looking right at it. She crawls closer, peering through. There's a sliver of space on the other side. Narrow. But maybe…

"Rafe," she calls quietly.

He doesn't respond. Rafe's attention is on a different wall section.

"Rafe," she tries again, louder this time.

He looks over, confused.

She gestures urgently. "Lift me."

"What?"

"Up and over." She taps the the stucco-like wall. "There's a crawlspace on the other side."

"Are you—"

"Just trust me." She urges. 

He hesitates for only a second before crouching low, gripping her calf. With his help, she pushes herself up, hands finding the top edge. It's rough and relatively high enough for discomfort. Still, she manages to hook an elbow over.

She peeks. There's a drop, maybe two feet further down than the current wall height on their side. A nine to ten-foot drop. Doable. It’s dark, but there's space.

Kiara appears at the wall, whisper-hissing, "What the hell are you doing?"

Sofia doesn't answer. She shifts her weight, uses Rafe as leverage, and throws a leg over, straddling the top of the old wall. Then—hesitantly— she starts easing down the other side.

"Careful," Rafe murmurs from below. As Sofia slides out of his grip, his fingers brush down her ankle.

"What other option do we have," she whispers back at Kiara. "There's a path around. We need to get back to the stairs if we have any chance."

But halfway down, her grip falters. Her hands slip and Sofia drops.

The landing isn't bad, just jarring. Her feet hit the stone floor hard, and she stumbles back into the opposite wall, catching herself. Pain blooms across her palm, where she scraped it against the top edge of the wall, but she clenches her jaw and attempts to ignore it.

"You okay?" Rafe calls from the other side.

"Yeah," she breathes. "Hurry up!"

There's a shuffle of movement and when she looks up, Kiara's face appears over the ledge, strained with effort. Sofia smiles despite herself.

She reaches up, helping soften Kiara's descent. The other girl lands with a grateful nod.

Pope's hands appear over the top of the wall next as he pulls himself over and disappears only briefly before reappearing, straining to drag Rafe up with him. Sofia steps aside as Pope shimmy’s over and lands, surprisingly light on his feet.

The voices are closer now. Much closer.

Rafe scrambles over the top just as light spills into the narrow passage from above. Shouts echo off the walls. They're curious, not yet alarmed, but they're not far off.

Sofia grabs at his waist as he drops, steadying him. Despite her efforts, his landing is controlled. Rafe in a tense situation still somehow seems completely put together, a far cry from the anxiety raging in her at this very moment. When sounds enter their previous room, they crouch beside the wall, the four of them ducking down instinctively as if it’ll help.

Rafe's breath rises and falls under her grip as they stay silent, listening for any sounds that indicate they should move. The voices seem to argue for a few more moments before feet sound, getting further away. No doubt more interested in the glowing tiles than the random shuffling sounds from their actions. 

When they are confident the men are far enough away, they quietly meander their way through the narrow gap, stepping carefully. Rafe keeps close behind her, so close she can feel the heat of his breath on the back of her neck every time they pause. The ghost of his fingertips steadies her whenever something snaps near them. 

Eventually, the path bends back toward the stairs. They reach a narrow crack in the wall, just wide enough to slip through.

Pope halts at the gap, peering out to scan the area. Then he nods.

They move, managing to make it back out the way they came.

One by one, they slip out into the overgrown clearing. The fresh, open air is a rush to Sofia's lungs. For a split second, it feels like they've made it. But then more voices filter in from around the corner. More of Dalia's men no doubt. Sofia sticks close to Kiara as they guys follow just behind.

And then a patrol rounds the corner.

Rafe's hand clamps around her wrist again, and he pulls her back, veering away from Pope and Kiara, who bolt in the opposite direction.

Rafe doesn't let go. He drags her with him around the remains of a crumbling wall, their feet pounding against the loose earth.

And when they’re concealed, they run. Darting between half-fallen structures and ancient stone. A once grand market ruin, maybe, but she doesn't care. She can’t. All that matters is distance and keeping good cover.

They end up behind a thick tree that's split a wall in two. The bark digs into her shoulder blades as she leans back against it, chest heaving.

Rafe is still beside her, brow furrowed as he glances behind her.

"Rafe," she whispers, her voice low but urgent. "What is it?"

He doesn't respond immediately, his jaw tightening as his eyes narrow in concentration.

"Wait here," he murmurs, kissing the side of her head quickly before slipping back around the tree.

"Rafe—" she hisses after him, her tone a mix of frustration and worry, but he's already disappeared into the underbrush. She debates whether to follow, the exasperation heavy on her lips.

Where the fuck does he think he's going?

Before she can decide, Kiara and Pope materialize beside her, breathing shallowly.

"Where's Rafe?" Kiara asks, her brows knitting together in concern.

"He freaking just— ran off," Sofia replies, gesturing wildly in the direction Rafe had gone. "The guy just up and left. Right back to them."

"The fuck," Kiara scoffs, glancing toward one of the many convoys in the distance.

Pope shakes his head. "We can't stay here."

"And we can't leave him," Sofia retorts, her tone sharp but laced with worry.

"They're getting closer; we have to get moving," Kiara counters, her voice laced with urgency.

Sofia ignores her, shifting slightly to peek around the tree. Her heart leaps into her throat as she sees Rafe slipping through the brush toward Dalia's men. He's weaving between the convoy and the crumbling ruins, staying low to avoid detection. The old, deteriorating wall is the only thing separating him from two armed guards standing alert, their weapons slung over their shoulders.

What the fuck is he thinking?

They wait, tension thick in the air. One minute. Two. Five.

Kiara presses closer, her voice a sharp whisper. "They're heading this way to search. We need to go."

Sofia shakes her head, refusing to budge. "I'm not leaving him—"

"Hey," Rafe's voice startles them, and they spin around to find him crouched next to them, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"What the fuck, Rafe?" Kiara snaps, her tone biting but quiet.

He raises a long rubber object, grinning as he dangles it before them.

"What is that?" Pope asks, his eyes widening.

"A belt or something," Rafe says, his grin widening. "Took it right off one of the armoured trucks. They're not going far anytime soon."

Sofia feels a mix of relief and amusement bubbling up. She grabs his shirt at the waist, her fingers curling into the fabric as a small smile breaks across her face.

Kiara and Pope exchange looks, the humor catching up to them as small smirks play on their lips. An eye roll or two.

"We need to get out of here before they realize," Rafe says, his voice shifting back to seriousness.

Without another word, he grabs her hand and leads them back toward the thicker part of the outer wall, their steps light. The adrenaline hasn't worn off, and they duck motionless whenever they hear a twig-like snap, eyes trained on their intended meeting spot and where the door should now be open. 

Keeping hope that John B, Sarah, and Cleo kept well away from Dalia's patrol unscathed.

————————————

Next part: Chapter 25

[ren14554]

*Want to start from the beginning? Chapter 1

Eternal

Chapter 23: Close Calls

Pope wasn't lying when he said it would be an early wake-up call. It just wasn't Pope who did the waking.

The birds outside create a cacophony that grates on Rafe's brain. He attempts to hide, curling into Sofia and digging his head into the curve of her neck, but the sounds still find him. Just like they do the others.

They all grumble through packing, quickly scarfing down rehydrated oats before hitting the trail again. The morning sun heats up the world steadily, though the cool night air still lingers in pockets beneath the rainforest canopy.

"How much longer?" Cleo calls out, a few steps behind Pope.

"Only a bit more. We're coming up on—"Pope's eyes flicking from the map to the trail ahead. "Some waterfalls… I think."

"These particularly important waterfalls?"

"Not the ones I think we're looking for," Pope admits.

"Hey, Rafe."

John B sidles up next to him, his right leg favoring a lighter step than his left—the bandage Sarah and Kiara wrapped earlier this morning still holding strong.

"What do you want?"

John B smiles. "Ever think you'd be trekking across a Mexican rainforest with the likes of us Pogue degenerates?"

Rafe rolls his eyes—playfully. "Not once."

"Me neither," John B replies with a smirk. Almost in sync, they step over a thick tree root.

"You good?"

"With life in general?" John B trails off, searching for the thread.

Rafe nods toward the women up ahead. Sarah walks beside Sofia, her arm looped through his girlfriend's; mid-story, both laughing.

"Getting my sister pregnant."

John B blushes. "Ah. That."

"That," Rafe echoes.

"She's good. We're good," John B says with a little nod.

"Ever thought you'd be trekking it across a Mexican rainforest with a pregnant girlfriend?"

"Not once." John B repeats Rafe's earlier answer with a reserved sigh. "So long as she stays safe, I'm happy."

"Agreed." 

"Anyway, she's prepared." John B chuckles. "I've got all the gear, and she's lugging all the food. Stick with her if you get lost—else, you're shit outta luck."

Rafe can't help the low laugh. Of course, Sarah's pack is loaded with snacks. The little gremlin was getting more peckish by the day.

"It's kinda nice," John B muses, "not wanting to deck each other in the face."

"Yeah, well—there's still time." Rafe quips. "Don't know if it's a customary big-brother duty, but if anything ever happened to her on your watch…"

"You'd kill me?" John B finishes with a cheeky, all-knowing smile.

"Something like that," Rafe mutters, eyes rolling.

"Duly noted," Sarah's boyfriend replies, surprisingly sincere. "You know, Rafe, we just had a heart-to-heart."

Rafe glances over, taking in John B's smug expression, and nods with faux solemnity. "Only in your dreams, Little John."

John B laughs.

He catches Sarah's eye. Her pleased smile as she quickly takes in him and John B before she turns back around. She leans into Sofia and whispers something that makes them both smile. He can't help the subtle smile sticking to his mouth longer than intended.

~~~~~

They reach the waterfalls Pope mentioned by lunchtime, mist rolling off the cascading drop, balancing the sun's heat and the humidity clinging to their skin. Granola and rehydrated lukewarm mac and cheese are all they're afforded.

Rafe's starting to miss the Mexican food they'd been eating all week.

Kiara steals the map from Pope as they start out again, wanting to double-check that he and his trusty compass actually know where they're going—because it feels like they've been heading deeper and deeper into nothingness.

But signs begin to show.

Small structures of old stone, half-swallowed by earth, are covered in vines that twist and curl like nature's security system. A darker tree line stands ahead—denser, more ominous.

And then they break through.

Another lost city.

No bigger than the last, but far more eroded—like time and earth decided this one needed to be swallowed whole. Trees and roots burst from the ground around what used to be homes, temples, and gathering spaces. Everything looks trampled by nature—yet somehow, still standing. Persisting despite centuries of decay.

There's a beat of awe.

And it's not just Rafe. The others—Sofia, Sarah, John B, Cleo, Pope, Kiara—stare wide-eyed, brains short-circuiting.

How has no one found this?

"What the fuck," Cleo mutters, for all of them.

What the fuck.

Just like before, they move in slowly. Stepping over crumbled pillars and debris, skirting thick vegetation that's long since claimed the land. It's darker here, the massive canopy blanketing most of the city—save for the tall pyramid at its center. Like the forest was grown specifically to hide it.

Still, the heat is heavy, trapped in the overgrowth. The buzzing of insects is relentless. Distant screeches echo through the trees.

"Wow," Sarah breathes.

"Once again, I ask how," Kiara says. "How does this place look like it's never been discovered?"

Rafe starts down a crumbling staircase—at least two stories tall—leading to an overgrown path that winds through what used to be, no doubt, a vibrant community. The others follow in small clusters.

"I'd love to pick Hollis's brain about how and why she had the artifact that led us here," Cleo says, her footsteps echoing on the stone.

"Too bad Groff killed her," Rafe mutters.

He stops at the bottom, scanning the ruins. Sofia's hand curves over his shoulder as she steps up behind him. Sarah glances up from the step next to him.

"She never mentioned anything like this to you?"

"No," Rafe answers flatly. "She only ever wanted my money." Sofia squeezes his shoulder lightly.

"So what—do we head toward the pyramid?" Sarah asks, stretching her back.

"Seems like the right direction," Cleo offers.

"It's the only direction," John B murmurs.

Sofia's voice floats in from behind Rafe, aimed toward Pope. "Where's the trail from here? Wasn't this only the midpoint on the map from the museum? Maybe instead of heading to the largest structure, we should focus on where we need to be."

Pope sighs. "That's the problem. Everything I've found shows no clear continuation of the trail. So... all we've got is exploration."

"Then let's explore," Sarah decides, already moving.

They follow without much hesitation—what else can they do?

The quiet returns, broken only by the chatter of wildlife. A few monkeys hang lazily from broken stones in the distance, watching as they creep further in.

"Does anyone else feel like we're not alone?" Kiara asks softly.

"I feel like we're walking into a damn trap," Cleo mutters, adjusting her pack.

Sofia brushes her fingertips along the carved face of a nearby wall. "This is incredible."

She never got to take in the last ruins—she was too busy trying to get them out alive.

Rafe follows just behind her, his hand ghosting over the same markings—but his attention isn't on the stone. It's in the shadows. The silence here isn't peaceful.

"I don't like it," he murmurs.

Pope and Kiara lead again, slipping through a narrow corridor formed by toppled columns. It opens into an overgrown courtyard, a vine-choked fountain in the center, and moss-covered steps leading to raised platforms—likely ceremonial.

"You think this was part of the same system as the last site?" Sarah asks, one hand absentmindedly resting on her belly.

"Could be. Layout's familiar... but this place feels older," Pope replies. "More forgotten."

Then, a sound cuts through the air.

They freeze.

Not an animal. Not wind.

Footsteps.

Human.

Cleo throws Rafe a look. Her hand's already on the hilt of her knife. John B shifts protectively in front of Sarah.

Rafe moves closer to Sofia, jaw clenched, scanning the brush.

Then again—voices. Low, muffled. Foreign. Male.

Rafe catches Sofia's eye. She's already saying it with her look before she whispers, "Dalia's men."

"Move," Rafe mouths. "Now."

Pope points to a half-collapsed structure. "There."

They sprint across the courtyard, crouched low, diving behind the wall and pressing into the foliage. A heartbeat thuds in his ears.

Moments later, two armed men enter the courtyard.

They're not rushing. Just scanning.

Rafe lifts just enough to peer over the wall. They're too close.

One of the men nudges a stone with his boot, muttering about "not being far behind." The other mentions "clearing the path to the temple."

They're headed to the pyramid.

Eventually, the men move on, disappearing down the opposite path.

No one breathes for a long minute.

"So we're definitely not alone," Kiara whispers.

"We're not the first either," Sofia adds.

"Makes sense," Pope says, adjusting his grip on the map. "We're up against a private militia with serious resources." The paper crinkles too loudly, drawing glares. Pope winces.

"We could camp out here. Wait until they're gone."

"And let the bugs eat us alive?" Cleo scoffs, already stepping back out. "Pass."

They follow slower now. Rafe offers Sofia a hand over the rubble. She wipes her palms on her shorts and gives him a soft smile.

Their movements tighten. Quieter. Close to the walls, ready to duck at the first sign of danger.

Then the hum of noise grows louder as they near the heart of the ruins—the pyramid.

They step out of a long corridor and freeze.

A massive field stretches to the pyramid steps. Armored trucks sit parked just outside. Men mill around—some searching, some resting.

They duck back into the crumbling doorway of a nearby building.

Rafe peeks out again.

"How the fuck did they get vehicles in here?" he mutters.

"Sheer will and good luck?" John B offers.

"Absolute disregard for nature and decency," Kiara adds with a sneer.

They're outnumbered. Outgunned.

"There's gotta be another way," Rafe murmurs. "We can't go through them."

Pope's already pulling the map back out. "If the layout's the same, we follow the perimeter. Stay low, avoid the plazas."

"Circle the city?" Sarah asks.

"Exactly."

No one argues. Boots still echo somewhere in the distance.

They move again. Quiet. Careful. The city thins as they approach its edge—roots thick, terrain uneven. The old roads are mostly earth and broken stone.

Then they see it.

A massive stone wall rises ahead, nearly hidden by growth and terrain. It curves out of view, separating the city from the jungle.

"What the hell…" John B breathes.

"I didn't even realize we were this close to the edge," Sarah says.

"It's not marked on anything I've seen," Pope adds.

They follow it for a few yards, brushing away vines and watching where they step—until something interrupts the stone pattern.

A gate.

Massive. Half-swallowed by earth. Unremarkable, save for the faint impressions of where hinges once might've been. But there's a path—clearly visible on the other side. Worn flat. Leading somewhere.

"This," Pope whispers. "This is it. Has to be."

"And now we have to figure out how to open it," Sofia asks, brushing the cracked surface.

Sarah leans closer. "Doesn't look like it's opened in a long time."

Pope steps back, turning slowly to examine the surrounding wall. That's when Pope perks up. Rafe glances where Pope is gliding to, a weathered mural carved into the stone beside the gate, partially covered in moss and dirt.

"Guys—help me clear this."

They all move in, scraping back vines and earth until the faded image reveals itself: two pyramids etched into the stone, one taller, one smaller, drawn side by side. Between them, a faint symbol—circular, possibly a key of some kind—hovering above the smaller one. The gate, represented crudely, sits beneath the mural with a line connecting it directly to the smaller pyramid.

"Not again," Cleo mutters. 

John B responds, "Wouldn't be a proper ancient mystery without a few trials and tribulations, right?"

"Let's just hope there's no booby traps," Cleo replies.

"Well, if there are poison darts, Rafe's taking that one," Sarah teases.

Rafe glares.

Pope's breath catches. "This is a map."

"And it's leading us exactly where we need to go." Rafe states, "The key—or whatever opens this gate—isn't in the one Dalia's men are raiding."

"It's in the smaller one," Pope confirms. "Just behind it."

"So… we go in through the back," Cleo nods. "While they're distracted."

Sofia steps back, eyeing the gate. "Let's just hope they don't figure that out first."

A beat of silence.

Then Rafe nods. "Let's go."

They all nod—except John B. The pogue shifts slightly beside Sarah.

"Wait," John B says. "Sarah shouldn't come."

Rafe stops short. He glances back, his brow tightening. "Why?"

"She's pregnant, man."

Sarah lets out a sharp breath. "Don't do that."

"I'm not trying to sideline you," John B says quickly, but his stance doesn't budge. "But going back toward a bunch of armed men with only half a plan and a wall mural? That's not smart."

"I'm pregnant, not fragile."

Kiara steps forward then, firm. "If something goes sideways, it's not just you we'd be worried about."

Sarah crosses her arms, staring them down.

Rafe shifts. "Look, I don't think anyone's saying you can't handle yourself, but if they spot or hear us, we have to run or fight… it's just not worth the risk. Not for you. Not for the baby."

Sarah opens her mouth to argue, but this time, even Cleo nods, arms crossed over her chest like she's already decided.

"We're not leaving you," Pope adds, handing her a walkie. "Channel four. Short messages only."

Sarah accepts it reluctantly. John B slips an arm around her.

"Don't be gone long," she says.

"We won't," Kiara promises.

Cleo readjusts her bag moving to wordlessly take Popes backpack from him. "We'll hang here. If they regroup, we'll warn you."

Kiara, Sofia, and himself follow suit, handing over what’s remaining of their backpacks before they break off.

"You good?" she asks quietly when they’re a few yards away from the others.

He nods. "You?"

She mirrors it.

He glances at Pope and Kiara. "Let's go."

They disappear into the brush, the pyramid looming ahead. The group splits.

~~~~~

Rafe leads, one hand near his sidearm, the other brushing aside vines and low branches as they creep the long way around the city. Sofia stays close, her hand gripping the back of his shirt when the terrain steepens. Kiara and Pope trail behind, silent, eyes flicking about on high alert.

The smaller pyramid comes into view through breaks in the canopy—partially buried in the jungle, its stone staircase cracked and uneven. Humble compared to the grand one towering beyond it, but unmistakably significant.

Then—movement.

Rafe freezes, throwing an arm up, stopping Sofia short.

Voices, low and fast. Male. Spanish?

They're just ahead.

Rafe ducks behind a crumbled wall, pulling Sofia with him until they're pressed shoulder to shoulder into the mossy stone. Pope and Kiara flatten themselves nearby. Rafe glances toward the noise—shadows shifting at the tree line, maybe twenty yards off.

"Did you hear that?"

"No—there. I saw something move."

Leaves rustle. Rafe tenses.

Sofia slips her hand into his. No words—just pressure. His thumb brushes over her knuckles as he listens.

Then, a sharp movement in the brush. And it didn't come from them.

Then chaos.

Gunfire erupts into the rainforest. Immediate. Wild.

The mercenaries fire blindly into the jungle, shouting over one another. Birds scream overhead and scatter. Bullets tear into trees and dirt. Rafe jerks instinctively, pulling Sofia closer, wrapping one arm tight around her, shielding her body with his.

Dirt kicks up inches from his boot. A branch splinters above Pope's head.

"Shit—" Kiara breathes, ducking lower.

"They didn't see us," Pope mouths. "They think it's animals."

More gunfire. One of the men swears, calling something about monkeys. The other laughs—dry and humorless. Rafe's heart hammers, chest pressed firm against Sofia's back.

She doesn't flinch. Just leans into him, calm, sharp-eyed. When she shifts slightly to peer through a crevice in the stone, her hand stays curled against his stomach, grounding them both.

He squeezes it. Quick. Reassuring.

"We need to move," he breathes.

Sofia nods against his shoulder.

He gestures right—away from the noise—toward a narrow path curling between two collapsed stone walls.

This time, she grabs his hand before he can turn.

"You okay?" she whispers, locking eyes with his.

He nods. "You?"

"I'm with you."

That's all it takes.

They move—quiet, fast. Boots barely touching the ground. Ducking beneath twisted branches, weaving through rubble and thick roots. The gunfire fades behind them. Then silence.

Almost.

Forest sounds return slowly. Birds. Insects. The whirl of distant wind.

They don't stop until the smaller pyramid looms closer, framed by tangled vines and time.

Rafe crouches behind a low ridge of rock, scanning the area.

No movement. No sound except their breathing.

They're clear.

He finally exhales, not relief exactly—but something like it.

Sofia leans her forehead against his shoulder, hand still wrapped around his wrist. "That was close."

"Too close," he mutters, pressing a kiss to her hair. He lingers a second longer. "You good?"

"I will be when we get out of here."

Kiara drops to one knee beside them, brushing leaves off her arms. "They seriously shot up half the jungle for nothing."

Pope peeks through the brush and lets out a low whistle. "Fucking idiots."

Rafe reluctantly lets Sofia go as they all rise. The pyramid is only a few feet away now. Its steps are eroded, and the entrance at the top is barely visible through the overgrowth.

The base of the smaller pyramid is partially swallowed by the jungle, vines creeping like veins over the stone. Whatever entrance once existed isn't obvious—at least not at first.

They fan out slightly, still close, careful not to speak too loudly. Even with the gunfire gone, Rafe knows better than to think they're alone.

"Here," Pope calls softly, waving them over. He kneels beside a low, jagged opening half-hidden behind a collapsed slab. It's not an entrance in the traditional sense—just a break in the structure. Narrow. Just wide enough to crawl through.

"You sure?" Kiara asks.

Pope nods. "There's airflow. And I can see the floor slope down."

Rafe crouches beside him, peering into the dark. It's tight but passable.

He looks at Sofia. "You up for it?"

Sofia arches a brow. "After that sprint through gunfire? Yeah. I'm good."

He smirks faintly, pressing a hand to her lower back, guiding her toward the opening. He follows after, with Pope and Kiara close behind.

It's cooler inside—musty and damp. The air smells old, thick with mildew. They crawl a few feet before the tunnel opens into a lower chamber. Rafe stands slowly, brushing dirt off his arms, eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through cracks in the rock.

They're inside.

But it's different this time.

No grand ceremonial chamber like the last site. No vast open floor.

This one's more intricate. Instead of one large space, walls weave along the inner floor—almost like rooms, but with no doors. Nothing that would make any of them private. From up here, it almost looks like an ant farm—open, segmented, visible save for a few obscured pockets.

Sofia steps beside him, peering over the ledge. Her arm wraps easily around his waist, and he leans into her touch, resting a hand on her shoulder.

She whispers, "What kind of place is this?"

Unease itches down his spine.

They descend the steps together, tighter now, careful. Who knows if they're the first ones in here?

————————————

Next part: Chapter 24

*Hi. Sorry for the delay. Busy life things got in the way. But I've been on a roll with writing the next few parts, so it will be much sooner for the next chapter than this one.*

[ren14554]

*Want to start from the beginning? Chapter 1

Eternal

Chapter 22: - Journey's Beginning

His body starts to move slowly. His legs stretch out until his feet crest the end of the bed, and his lower back arches slightly in the stretch. However, his arms are held captive by another. 

Slowly, he blinks his eyes open, her hair a little haphazardly placed, tiny flyaways tickling his nose. As his current position registers in his brain, he immediately curls back into her, completely content with not moving another inch if he can. 

Damn her ability to be up early. 

"Rafe?"

"Yea’," he mumbles into her neck, squeezing his eyes shut, willing her to go back to sleep. 

"Your arm is digging into my ribs." She attempts to shift away from his arm, which is currently snaked under her. 

"Shit," he mumbles, voice still heavy with sleep; he pulls his arm out, “S’rry."

"It's okay." Always the people pleaser, this one. "Morning." She adds quietly. 

"Mornin’," Rafe happily mumbles back. "How'd you sleep?"

"Pretty well." He can hear her blush. "You?" She shifts, moving to her back to glance back at him. 

"Best sleep," he smirks, eyes still shut. 

"We should head downstairs." 

Rafe groans. 

"Don't," she chuckles softly, "pretty sure I've heard just about everyone pass by to go downstairs. We always seem to be last."

"Good." He finally opens his eyes. Her hazel gaze pins him in the best way.

"I look like crap."

"You look beautiful." He shifts, bringing his hand up to prop up his hazy head. He tangles his legs with hers, inching closer. 

"I smell like you." She briefly glances down at his t-shirt, dwarfing her lithe frame. 

He shakes his head. "It smells like you."

Rafe brushes his nose lightly against her jaw, her eyes fluttering closed, before teasing the skin with his teeth.

"Rafe," Sofia warns with a soft laugh.

He does it again, smirking. "What?" he challenges, his mouth moving along Sofia's skin until he reaches her lips. They share a long, lazy kiss, content in their closeness.

When he pulls back, she finally opens her eyes, bites her lip, and lets out a short laugh.

"We need to get up."

"Always about getting up…" He shakes his head playfully, exasperated, his hand sprawling across her neck, thumb brushing just under her chin. Her pulse is steady beneath his palm, warm and alive.

They stay like that, just looking at each other, comfortable in the silence until she swallows.

"Stop that," she breathes, biting her lip again.

His eyes narrow slightly as he inches closer, propping himself up on his elbow to tower over her. "Stop what?"

"Looking at me like you want a repeat of last night."

He smirks. "Maybe I do."

She playfully rolls her eyes and turns away, staring at some distant point across the room like she isn't affected.

"Rafe." She admonishes, her voice lacking any real authority.

Rafe leans down, his lips trailing from just below her ear and down her neck. His hand slips lower, his fingers teasing just beneath the collar of his T-shirt draped loosely over her frame.

"You're not exactly stopping anything."

She exhales shakily, a soft moan slipping when he nips at the spot where her neck meets her shoulder.

Then suddenly, she moves—hands sliding up his back, past his nape until they thread into the short hair at the back of his head. She pulls him down, their lips colliding in a slow, heated kiss. Beneath the covers, she nudges him, wordlessly guiding him between her knees. He willingly shifts, settling against her, hands skimming down her sides, swallowing her soft little pants of want with his mouth.

His hands slide to the backs of her thighs, gripping, pulling her impossibly closer. Her fingers twist in his hair—tight, just painful enough to make him groan. She tilts her hips up into him, his own pressing down in response, the only thing keeping them apart being the thin barriers of his briefs and her underwear.

He briefly opens his eyes—just long enough to take her in. The way her eyelashes flutter against her cheekbones. The way her breath hitches when he rolls his hips into hers again. The ghost of a smirk plays on his lips before he dips down to taste her again.

This—this is what he missed. The ease with which he can unravel her in these moments and leave her wanting more.

She tastes like lingering mint toothpaste and peppermint chapstick. Fuck if he isn't addicted to it.

"Rafe," she breathes between kisses, her voice heavy with want.

His fingers slip softly up her thigh, just about to tug at the hem of her underwear—

"Rafe?"

Sarah's voice.

From the other side of the door, a short knock follows.

Sofia stiffens, pushing her hands against his chest, their lips breaking apart. "Sofia," Sarah adds, sounding cautious.

Rafe collapses lightly on top of her, groaning in frustration. His forehead rests against her collarbone, moving with the short, quick rise and fall of her breath.

Sofia swallows, trying to steady her heart. "Yeah?" she calls out, her voice slightly shaky.

"Breakfast is ready. JB made his famous scrambled eggs." Sarah's voice is muffled through the door. "Figured we'd eat, then head out to get the food for the hike tomorrow."

Rafe lets out a quiet, dramatic sigh. Still, he wraps his arms around Sofia, pulling her tighter despite the interruption.

"Sure," Sofia calls back, "I'll be down in just a bit."

A pause.

"The laundry we put in last night finished, too. I'll leave your clean clothes at the door. A couple of them are Rafe's, too."

He groans into Sofia's neck, her skin heating with embarrassment.

"Okay," she replies, much less enthusiastically this time.

Sarah's footsteps retreat down the hall, and as soon as she's gone, Sofia covers her face with her hands, shaking with awkward laughter.

"The second time your sister has caught us… compromised," she groans. "They're all gonna know."

Rafe shrugs, still holding her close. "So? Let them know. If they haven't figured it out by now, then I don't have much hope for their survival in life."

She shoots him a glare. "That's not the point, Rafe."

He finally lifts up on his elbows, smirking. "Hey, who cares? They're probably too caught up in Groff and that damn map to care too much about…" He gestures between them.

"I know."

She reaches up, her fingers brushing over his jaw, her touch feather-light against the rough stubble forming there.

"Come on, get off."

"Sof," he groans, dropping his head dramatically against her neck again.

Her body shakes with quiet laughter as she scratches lightly at the back of his head, pressing a soft kiss to his hair.

"Come on," she coaxes again.

With a dramatic sigh, he finally rolls off her and flops onto the vacant side of the bed.

He watches as she stands, his shirt riding up her legs as she stretches, arms above her head, a sleepy little yawn escaping her lips.

Fuck, is he glad she pulled him into bed last night.

He wasn't expecting anything—he just wanted her to know he was thinking about her. No matter what she was feeling or whatever emotions she was battling, he'd work for her. Prove to her that he wasn't the same guy he was before she came along and turned his whole world upside down.

Sofia pads to the door, cracking it open just enough to grab the clothes Sarah left behind.

Rafe finally hauls himself out of bed as she starts changing. She shucks off his T-shirt and changes into some of the clean clothes. He leans down when he nears, pressing a soft kiss to her bare shoulder before grabbing his fresh T-shirt and jeans.

In the blink of an eye, she's dressed, her old sneakers laced up tight.

She reaches for his hand, tugging him silently toward the door.

Toward reality.

Toward the rest of the world. 

~~~~~

Early the next day, as the sun has barely decided to make its ascent into the sky, the rental is hustling with anticipation, excitement, and just a tinge of dread. 

"Okay," John B announces, hands on his hips. "Jeep?"

"Check," Pope calls.

"Hiking boots?"

"Check," Kiara deadpans, rolling her eyes.

John B smirks at her before glancing at Sarah. "Food?"

Sarah grins, a massive bite of conchas already stuffed in her mouth. "Chwek."

Rafe shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Okay, mama, don't eat all the sustenance," Kiara teases.

Rafe turns serious for a moment, glancing at Sarah. "You sure you're up for a day-and-a-half hike?"

Sarah scoffs. "Shut your mouth, Cameron. I am perfectly capable of physical activity."

She chucks a broken-off piece of the conchas at him, but it lands embarrassingly short. Sofia chuckles softly next to him.

"Doubting me does you no good."

Rafe smirks. "Never doubt the resolve of a Cameron."

Kiara chuckles, shaking her head and rolling her eyes.

Cleo shoves a blanket into Pope's backpack, "Rafe, you got the uh…" she scratches under her ear.

Rafe pauses as they all look over at him. He sighs, lifting his t-shirt, the gun's handle peeking out of his shorts. 

"Normally, I would start berating you…" Kiara states, glancing between the handle and his eyes, "But after what happened in the temple, better safe than sorry."

"Just don't," Sarah starts with a clearer mouth, "Just be careful with it."

Rafe almost wants to roll his eyes, but he understands the hesitation. He hasn't always been the best when a gun is in his hands. So he just nods in affirmation. Sofia's hand lands on his spine, grazing softly in comfort. Her silent way of telling him she is on his side.

He almost feels starved for her touch. So much so that he— maybe pathetically— ensures they're glued to each other on the thirty-minute drive to the head of the trail. That her hand is entangled in his, resting in his lap the whole way. And when they exit the Jeep, he ensures his hands grip her waist the entire way, keeping her close. 

Some might say he's clingy. He sees it as making up for precious days of lost time. 

That is until Sofia playfully slaps his hands away, and he's left to want. 

Damn her. 

———————————————

They reach the so-called starting point at about half past eight. Birds chirp in the distance as they pull into the end of a dirt parking lot. Only a few other cars litter the space, people who've already started their day on the nearby walking trails. 

They pull on their backpacks, ensure their boots are laced well, and then head out, leaving the car and, at least for the next three days, society behind. 

Pope leads, and the rest of them follow. Rafe tosses an arm around Sofia's shoulders as they round the reasonably large lake, which is quite beautiful in the morning. A flock of white-winged doves, as pointed out by Sofia, fly low across the calm water until they find the perfect spot. Sarah snaps a picture of Kiara against the backdrop, their laughter providing some comfort.

It's only when Cleo and Pope veer off the usual path ahead that the reality of their plans starts to settle in.

At first, it's not terrible; about thirty minutes on the rough trail that isn't too dense. Canopies of trees hang above them, and distant chatters of different creatures create a background of noise that keeps them company. John B even starts them on the Alphabet game to pass the time. The only hiccup is when they get to 'X,' and no one can name a city. Arguments were had, and Rafe cracked a laugh or two at the merits as to why cities outside the US were to count. 

They didn't, at least for that round. 

It at least helps them forget about the humidity, which makes them unnecessarily hotter than the actual temperature as the sun heats the earth. 

It isn't long before the path narrows, and they find themselves stepping carefully along the muddy banks of a shallow river. There's no clear crossing point, just slick stones and half-submerged logs that look stable until they suddenly decide not to be.

"I swear if I fall in, I'm blaming all of you," Sarah mutters as she tightens the straps on her backpack.

Rafe crosses first, testing each rock before offering Sofia a hand. Her boots nearly slip on a mossy patch, but she catches herself with a quick laugh.

They cross three more rivers of varying sizes by mid-afternoon, each less welcoming than the last. One is deeper than expected, and Kiara's bag gets partially soaked when a foothold she's using decides to unlatch and sink into the murky waters. Another is teeming with tiny, darting fish that jump toward their ankles, freaking both Sarah and Sofia out. The last's waters move fast, so they form a kind of shaky human chain to get across the sketchy-looking path Pope can spot after surveying the edge of the river for about five minutes up. Even Rafe, usually cocky and unbothered, looks a little more serious by the time they're on the other side.

And that's when they reach a section none of them feels oh so compelled to enter… but they must. The trees twist in uncanny ways, covering the space ominously. Trees that should have grown straight are warped and bent at awkward angles. The air here feels different—thicker, cooler, and damp in a way that clings to the skin. Light struggles to filter through the gnarled branches overhead. The ground beneath them is soft and musty, the smell of decaying leaves hanging thick in the air.

"This is... inviting," Cleo deadpans.

"Looks like something out of a horror movie," Pope says, though he doesn't stop walking.

They press forward, nerves slightly on edge. If it could still be called that, the trail is barely visible now—more an impression in the dirt than a path. That's when they reach the makeshift bridge.

Or maybe it was once a real bridge long ago. A massive fallen tree stretched precariously across a deep gorge, where a river churns roughly below. The drop is at least twenty feet, and the current beneath them is wild—fast-moving and frothing white against jagged rocks. Its roar echoes through the ravine, so loud it drowns out their breathing.

The log is weathered, slick with moss in some spots, stripped bare in others. It stretches farther than it should, long enough that they can't see the end from where they stand. The far side is wrapped in heavy vines and shadow, the edges blurred by the mist kicked up from the river.

"Hell no," Sarah blurts, eyeing the log like it personally offended her. "There has to be another way."

"We'll lose a whole day trying to backtrack," Pope says, checking his paper map. "This is the trail."

"If you can call this a trail," Cleo mutters.

Rafe steps forward without waiting. "It's fine. I've got it." His tone is easy, but there's a flicker of tension in his jaw, something guarded in his eyes. He adjusts his backpack's straps, then climbs onto the log smoothly. He doesn't wait for approval.

The others fall silent.

But Sofia notices the way his jaw clenches. The way his eyes flick toward the water before he starts to move. Her heart clenches and sinks all at once. She catches herself holding her breath. 

Every step is measured and deliberate. The first few feet are wide enough, but the further out Rafe gets, the thinner the log becomes. The log narrows about halfway across, and Rafe crouches low, spreading his arms to balance better. Mist dances around him in the sunlight like smoke.

Sofia's heart pounds. And yet… she can't make herself look away.

Rafe finally reaches the far side and hops down, turning to face them. "Alright," he calls out, "Who’s next?"

John B steps up, cracking his neck like it'll help. "No pressure," he mumbles. "If I die, someone better tell my kid I died cooler than this." He glances at the raging river below before putting a foot on the log.

Sarah scoffs, "Don't say that, JB, I swear."

"That," John B calls out, "Tell them Sarah murdered me after I fell to my death."

He moves slower than Rafe and is more cautious. His backpack sways with every step, throwing off his balance. About halfway across, the log dips slightly under his weight, creaking loud enough to raise everyone's blood pressure.

"Keep going," Rafe calls out. "Don't stop. Just stay relaxed."

John B tries, but it's clear he's not steady. And then—his foot lands on a patch of moss. Slick, dark green, hidden in shadow. His boot slides.

His knee scapes the log with a crunch as his leg drops off the side. He lurches forward, arms flailing.

Sofia gasps. Sarah shrieks.

John B's other leg slips, and he's suddenly dangling off the side, gripping the log with both arms, dangling legs, and moist bark threatening to pull him down. His hands scramble for traction, but there's nothing.

"Shit!" Pope yells—and bolts onto the log before anyone can stop him.

Rafe's already moving from the other side, but Pope's faster, crawling low and fast toward John B. The log cracks slightly under the sudden added weight of all three.

"I've got you, man!" Pope shouts, dropping to his stomach just as John B attempts to grip harder at the trunk.

Pope reaches down and latches around John B by the wrist, locking his hand around it like a vice grip. "Hold on—Rafe, help me!"

"No shit," Rafe responds, annoyed. He reaches them from the other side, steady on his feet, and grabs the trunk to keep himself balanced, leaning over to grab one of John B's backpack straps. They haul John B up inch by inch between them until his chest scrapes the log. He's able to grip at one of the long branches jutting from the old trunk, and he's finally back on top, shaking and gasping, his face pale. His knee from here is bleeding.

Nobody says anything for a moment. Only then does Sofia realize how tightly Sarah is gripping her wrist. A soft and hurried apology from the younger woman as she lets go. Sofia caresses her hand briefly in response.

"I hate nature sometimes," John B mutters into the wind.

"You good?" Pope asks, still holding onto him.

"Ask me when I'm on solid ground," he wheezes.

"Alright," Rafe says, helping to steady them. "Let's move."

With Pope guiding from behind and Rafe in front, they get John B the rest of the way across.

Once all three are safely on the far side, Pope doesn't stop to catch his breath. He immediately turns around, scanning the log bridge.

"I'm going back," he says, already climbing back onto it.

"Dude—what?" John B blinks at him, stunned.

"They're not getting across alone," Pope mutters.

This time, he moves with more control, as if he is more practiced now that he knows the terrain. When he returns to their side, Sarah nearly tackles him in relief.

"Please tell me you're guiding us one by one," Kiara says, tightening her grip on her straps.

"That's the plan," Pope says, extending a hand.

He helps them individually, starting with Kiara, then Sarah, Cleo, and finally Sofia.

When it's her turn, Sofia hesitates just a second before stepping onto the log. Her boots press against the soft patches where moss has worn deep grooves. The wind picks up, brushing her hair into her face.

She tries not to look down past her careful steps on the tree trunk. Each step is calculated and sure.

"Eyes on me," Rafe says from the far end, hand outstretched, waiting like he's been the whole time. "Come on, baby, you're almost here."

And then she is.

As she reaches him, her pulse is wild—the urge to throw up and scream with joy bubbling inside. He catches her hand and grips her hard for the last few steps, helping her as she hops down.

"You okay?" he asks, quieter now. Rafe's hand brushes her wind-swept hair behind her ear.

Sofia nods, catching her breath. "That was too much. Never again."

Rafe gives her a small smile that fades as they all turn to look at John B. He sits astride a small rock while Cleo and Kiara try to clean up the gash on his knee. Still, with an utter look of fear, Sarah stands behind him, holding his head back against her stomach, her hand raking through his hair in comfort. Luckily, John B doesn’t look too bothered.

"Who's got the first aid?" Kiara asks.

Sofia shuffles her bag off her back, Rafe's hand coming to help pull it around. She digs in it, shuffling a few items before her hand hits the box. Handing it over is quick; Cleo and Kiara cleaning and wrapping the gash is even quicker. John B only grimaces once or twice through the sting.

"Think you can walk?" Cleo asks as she hands the kit back to Sofia. She meticulously packs it back where it was, ensuring the weight of her backpack is balanced.

"Yeah." John B smiles; it tries its best to reach his eyes. "What's one leg down?"

"Got thirteen more good ones." Pope jokes back weakly. "We do need to get moving. Getting out of these woods is our best bet. I marked a spot that looked okay to camp for the night. I don't think we’re gonna make it as far as we originally hoped."

With John B up and walking—albeit slower than before—they continue.

The crooked trees stretch longer than expected, their branches casting crooked shadows, and the air is still damp and oddly cold as the sun starts to lower in the afternoon sky.

No one says it aloud, but they're all waiting for the next thing to go wrong.

And then, almost without warning, the terrain starts to shift.

Eventually, the trees start to space out again. The ground gets firmer underfoot, less mushy, and uneven. It's subtle, but it feels like a shift. Even the light changes—it is less filtered and a little warmer, like the forest is finally easing up.

"Think we're almost through it," Pope calls from the front, glancing down at the map.

"Thank god," Sarah mutters, dragging a hand down her face. "That whole trail felt like it was trying to eat us alive."

They keep going, rounding a bend where the trail dips into a shallow ridge. Rafe stops short, causing the rest to slow behind him.

He steps toward something half-buried in the dirt near a cluster of thick roots. A flat stone—large and square, partially covered in moss. He crouches and brushes off a layer of grime with his palm.

There's something carved into the surface.

"Yo, Pope," Rafe calls. "You seeing this?"

Pope moves up beside him. They all do.

It's a jaguar—roughly carved but detailed enough to make out the sharp lines of the body, the curve of its spine, and the low, crouching posture. Weathered, but still visible. Definitely old.

"Damn," Pope mutters. "This must be the Jaguar symbol on the tapestry. A trail marker of sorts?"

Sofia crouches beside Rafe, pushing her hair back as she squints at the stone. "Jaguars were important. I think. Represented power…. or protection… or something. I can't quite remember fourth-grade history."

Pope confirms, "No, you're right. They were sacred. Whatever we're going towards, they must've marked it for any travelers back then. To know they were still on the right track."

Rafe stands back, scanning the area. "It's just sitting here. Out in the open. Weird, no one's ever cleared it."

"They probably didn't know it was here," Sofia says. "It's not like people hike through this part."

"Take a photo," Pope says, and Kiara already has her phone out.

She snaps a few pictures while Pope notes the coordinates.

"Alright," Cleo says, adjusting her pack. "Cool find. Let's not lose daylight."

"Yeah," John B adds with a short laugh. "And maybe let's avoid any more surprise log crossings."

"The spot should just be another twenty minutes," Pope points to the right, "that way."

~~~~~

Pope scouted out a few places for a potential camp anywhere along the path they mapped out the other day. The one he decides on now, especially as John B starts to wince with each step, the gauze on his knee already tinged red, is a natural stone outcrop about a hundred yards off the trail. Part of the rock face is tucked beneath an overhang that juts out just far enough to offer some shelter. It's quiet, tucked into the slope, catching the last of the day's light.

"Better than nothing," Pope says, dropping his pack and stretching his back with a groan. "We've got cover, and it's flat enough to pitch our tents."

"Five stars," Kiara jokes, already unstrapping her gear. "At least this time, we've got gear as opposed to living off the land."

"What do you need from me?" Sarah asks, hands on hips, watching Pope unpack his bag. 

"Whatever helps," Pope states. 

They all get to work: the guys put up tents, Rafe and Pope aid John B with his slight limp, and Sarah and Kiara laugh over prepping their food. 

Sofia stops helping Cleo momentarily organize some of their things to watch Rafe finish up hers. He kindly offered to take on the task as she started to take hers out of her bag. She won't tell him that she used to go camping quite a bit with her dad and little brother and that she's probably put up twenty different tents in her lifetime. He offered. And she accepted. 

It's not half bad for a Figure-eight-rich kid when he's done. 

She meanders over to analyze, subtly pounding down on one of the poles not entirely set in the grounding piece. 

He stands at full height, looking proud of himself as he analyzes the small tent.

"It looked so much bigger at the store," She remarks. It's not bad, but it's definitely cheaper than most. And smaller out here in the wilderness. "At least it should fit me and Kiara." She bites her tongue as she gauges his reaction. A fit of surprise, confusion, and then resignation settles. She decides to let him off quickly. "Well, luckily, I think she decided that she no longer wanted to share with me and wants to be on her own, so I'm afraid the only free tent space this evening is in here."

His blue eyes glare. Sofia smiles. 

"I may not mind the stars and the mosquitoes then."

She manages to backhand his stomach lightly before a small smile breaks onto his. A laugh on his breath. 

His hand pulls her in, his arms sliding snugly around her waist, and his chin drops to her head. His body is warm against her back, grounding her after a long, draining day.

"Will you even fit?" She joked. No doubt big enough for both. 

"I can curl up," he murmurs, his voice low and rough from hours of hiking. His nose nudges the side of her ear, a subtle brush that sends warmth through her chest. "Don't worry about me."

When the tents are pitched and gear stashed, the sky has faded into that rich twilight blue just before true night takes hold. Pope manages to get a small fire going, and they all sit around, enjoying the slight reprieve they are rewarded with after a long day, along with food that at least satisfies.

"So, how long are we walking tomorrow?" Kiara questions from her spot near Sarah and John B. 

"According to the map, we're about a quarter of a day behind," Pope says, tossing a snapped twig into the fire. "Everyone okay with an early wake-up?"

Cleo stretches next to him. "As long as I can get a little rest in the next hour."

"Yeah, at least these digs are marginally better than on the island," John B mutters. "And way better than that first night in Morocco."

"Anything's better than that first night in Morocco," Cleo fires back without missing a beat.

Kiara sighs.

"Sorry, Kie," Sarah says, her hand reaching back to rest comfortably on Kiara's knee.

Silence settles over the group. The only sounds are the soft crackle of firewood and the faint calls of animals in the trees beyond. It's both comforting and anxiety-inducing at once. 

"What would a life with eternal youth feel like?" John B muses, tilting his head back toward the darkening sky.

"All the things you could do," Rafe says, not looking up. "All the things you could see."

"What a price people would pay for that kind of power," Cleo adds.

"I'd think it'd be lonely," Kiara says softly.

Sofia shifts against Rafe. His arm adjusts loosely around her shoulders.

"I think I've seen enough movies to know I don't want it either," she says.

"Thank you," Kiara agrees. "The things you could see might be great… but what about all the bad?"

Rafe's voice cuts through the quiet. "So we still figure Chandler wants to find it to make a profit of sorts."

"The only dealings with men or women he'd have is with the kind we wouldn't want holding that kind of privilege," Pope adds, glancing at the fire.

Rafe exhales through his nose, sharp and tired. "So how the hell are we going to stop him?"

No one answers right away.

It's a great question, and Rafe is right to ask it. What are seven barely 20-something-year-olds going to do to stop Groff and his small army of mercenaries? Chandler has resources. Hired guns. Connections. Power.

And if they do find it… what then? Do they tell someone? Try to cover it up? Walk away like they were never there?

"We don't know anything other than what we could find on the Internet or what Sofia knows," Sarah reasons. "Who's to say there's anything to find at all?"

"Makes this fucking thing even better," John B sulks, gesturing down to his currently wrapped-up knee. 

As the fire dwindles, they all break off one by one towards their respective tents. Kiara easily understood that, for all intents and purposes, she and Sofia would no longer need to share. There seems to be a slightly grateful glint that Sofia doesn't take too personally. She'd probably be relieved not to be in the middle of the same if it were her. 

That just means when Rafe pulls her up and slings an arm around her neck, the inevitable butterflies she always gets around him when he's particularly nonchalant yet clingy. 

They settle quickly; luckily, the tent is just long enough to comfortably fit both of them, but Rafe doesn't stick to his side, instead practically settling in behind her. 

She intertwines her hand on top of his, fingers curling, locking in place. He settles against her back, his breath tucking the errant baby hairs around her ear. Slowly lifting their joined hands to her mouth, she kisses his palm softly, just under his thumb. He hums in contentment. 

"I've been thinking." She states softly. Rafe nuzzles his nose deeper into her hair as their arms settle around her waist. 

"Hmm?" 

"I stopped painting because I couldn't go off to school for it. And my family needed me to help with finances—"

"Mmm hm." He agrees softly, his fingers tightening around hers. 

"But seeing all that art. Everything the Mayans created out of natural paints and patience makes me want to paint again."

"You should." He murmurs. 

"I miss it."

"You're a natural," he says, pulling her closer as if to make her believe it more. "What with all those sketches of me you used to draw when we first started dating—"

"All?" she scoffs, laughing under her breath.

"All. Pages and pages."

"There are not pages. You wish."

"Maybe," he replies dryly, and she can practically feel the grin on his face against her shoulder.

She rolls her eyes. "Anyway," she says, trying not to smile. "This trip—it's giving me that spark again."

"I'm flattered to be your muse."

She elbows him in the side, but he's already prepared, catching her arm quickly and pinning it down with smug satisfaction.

"You're the worst," she mutters, but there's no bite.

"I love you." It's soft— a little sleepy. Yet almost hesitant. Like somehow, she'll rip the rug out from under him and suddenly change her mind.

"I love you too." She whispers back. She exhales quietly and lets her body sink further into his.

Outside, the forest hums. Crickets, frogs, and the occasional distant birdcall layered beneath the rise and fall of Rafe's breathing behind her.

————————————

Next part: Chapter 23

[ren14554]

Want to start from the beginning? Chapter 1

**Warning: Mature/Sexual content. Read with caution**

Eternal

Chapter 21: Mexico - Reverence

"How do these look?" Sarah asks, propping her foot on one of the low benches. She proudly showcases a pair of sturdy yet stylish hiking boots, slamming the sole down to emphasize their durability.

They had made it to an adventure supply store, one that John B had tracked down on the internet a short drive from their Airbnb. It smelled of fresh rubber and canvas and was filled with rows of backpacks, tents, and camping essentials for the day-and-a-half excursion Pope had surmised.

Standing beside Sofia, arms crossed, Rafe barely glances at Sarah's boots before scoffing. "You're not making a fashion statement. You need practicality."

Sarah shoots him an unimpressed look. "I can look good while making sure it's functional for me," she argues, chin tilting up.

A few feet away, Kiara and Cleo exchange amused glances, muffling their laughter.

Sofia smirks, glancing between the siblings. "To be fair, Rafe’s got a point. Your feet will hate you if you choose the wrong ones."

Sarah gestures toward her choice. "They're waterproof, have ankle support, and are cute. Best of both worlds."

Rafe huffs, shaking his head. "You're ridiculous."

"And yet," Sarah singsongs, lifting her foot again before dramatically spinning on her heel, "I'm still going to be the one with better-looking feet by the end of this."

Already sifting through another rack of boots, John B doesn't look up as he vocalizes, "As long as no one complains about sore feet, we'll all survive."

"I can get behind that." Cleo chimes in.

Sofia picks up a pair of boots, testing their weight in her hands. Rafe lingers near her, then nudges her with an elbow, his voice low enough for only her to hear.

"You're not gonna make me carry you if you pick the wrong ones, are you?"

She scoffs, tossing him a look. "Please, I'll be carrying you."

His mouth quirks up at the corner, and for a moment, it feels like they're back to months ago before everything got hard, when teasing each other was an afterthought. Rafe moves on, shifting to another section of boots, but Sofia shakes her head, pretending her heart didn't just stutter.

At checkout, the cashier barely spares them a glance as she scans through their pile—hiking boots, tents, water filters, headlamps, and whatever else Pope deemed necessary. The total flashes on the screen, and for a brief second, Sofia catches Rafe's hesitation. His fingers grip the credit card just a little too hard, jaw tightening as something unreadable flickers across his face before he hands it over.

When the receipt prints, he shoves it in his pocket, shoulders stiff as he grabs one of the bags. And honestly, regardless of how pissed she was at him—not that she is anymore—Sofia can't help but check on him.

"You good?" she asks, voice casual as she slides up beside him.

Rafe barely glances at her, adjusting the bag's weight in his grip. "Yeah."

Liar.

"Liar."

He ignores her, but there's the slightest shake of his head. She doesn't push; she lets the silence stretch as they walk.

A few blocks from their rental, she tries again. "You sure everything's okay?"

"A middle-aged man ran off with almost half a million of my money. My dad's legacy is currently down nearly three hundred grand. And I'm stuck in Mexico searching for what... treasure? Eternal life?"

She stays quiet.

"Not really going how I imagined the last two months."

"Maybe not. But in what world would you ever imagine you'd be chasing a potential supernatural life-altering discovery?"

"I know how the last few treasure hunts ended for me." He exhales. "Not confident this one's gonna be any different."

"Rafe Cameron without confidence? I don't know him."

He glances at her. Almost wary.

She doesn't press, just offers a small smile. They walk silently the rest of the way, but it's not as heavy as before.

Content in just being.

~~~~~

The new rental Jeep—retrieved by John B and Pope, who have zero regard for legalities or alternative options—sits parked and ready, gassed up for the seven-hour drive inland. They didn't hesitate. Didn't second-guess. This was it. One way or another, they were doing this.

The town they're heading to is about thirty minutes from the lake Pope swears is the one depicted in the Mayan temple. They'd sat around the old wooden table this morning with a flimsy paper map from the local store, tracing and retracing the same route, cross-checking it against John B's scribbled notes from the museum.

Sofia just hopes they're right.

Because once they hit the trails, there's no cell service. No backup. No lifeline.

The thought lingers, settling uneasily in her stomach. The what-ifs are stack ling up too fast. What if they're wrong? What if they don't find anything? What if Groff finds them first?

Sarah had told her what happened back at the pyramid—when they finally faced Groff in person for the first time in weeks, how he had brazenly ordered Dalia's men to fire near Rafe. Not at him—near him. A calculated warning. It was close enough to rattle, unnerve, and remind them who held the power.

Sofia hadn't been there. But just hearing about it made her heart sink. Still does.

Loading up isn't much of a fanfare. They move fast in the thick early afternoon heat, fueled by the need to get out of here, to put some distance between themselves and this place. A new town, a new place might not be a clean slate, but at least it's something.

She keeps an eye on Rafe the entire time. He doesn't smile much, but there's something in the way he moves—more focused. He cracks a few sarcastic jokes under his breath, the kind that ripples through the group in small waves. Pope huffs a laugh. Sarah rolls her eyes. Even John B, who's had more than enough reasons in the past to keep his distance, snorts at a few of them.

To Sofia, it feels like Rafe's coming back into his own. Like some part of him— the previously worn parts—has started to mend.

She watches as he helps Sarah with her pack, lifting the overstuffed bag into the back of the Jeep like it's nothing. The way his gaze flicks toward her—just a second, just to make sure she's good—lingers longer in Sofia's mind than it should. And when John B starts wrestling with the growing pile of gear, trying to Tetris everything into place, and Rafe, without a sigh or a single complaint, steps in to help.

John B thanks him. No animosity. Not even a blink of surprise.

Maybe Rafe's not doing as bad as she thought.

Either way, the Jeep is packed, the doors slam shut, and with one last glance at the town fading in the rearview, they proceed forward into whatever's to greet them next.

~~~~~

The drive feels long, the roads narrowing as they trek further inland. It would've felt shorter back in the States, where highways cut clean through cities, where civilization never felt so distant. But here, there's nothing but miles of dense, untouched green. The trees stretch high on either side of the cracked, sun-bleached road, the terrain growing wilder, more untamed. It's the kind of landscape that swallows, leaving only the engine's hum and the occasional bump of tires over uneven pavement.

Sofia sits behind Rafe, watching the back of his head and the shift of his shoulders every time he leans an arm against the door. It's stupid how aware she is of his presence. How much space he takes up just by existing.

She leans back, resting her head against the seat, watching the jungle blur past.

About three hours in, they stop at a small town—one of those places that barely exists on the map, where locals eye them warily but don't seem surprised by outsiders passing through. A few market stalls line the street, and the smell of cooking meat drifts from an open-air food stand on the corner.

Sofia feels the Jeep jolt as John B shifts it into park. He swings out of the driver's seat first, stretching with a groan.

"Gas and food. We need both."

Pope, already scanning the town, nods. "And water. I really want some water right now."

Rafe as he steps out of the Jeep, holds out his hand for her to steady herself with as she jumps down onto the uneven gravel. Hand warm in hers. Brief.

He doesn't say anything, just shoves his hands into his pockets, scanning their surroundings with that careful, unreadable look he always gets when they're somewhere new. Not tense, exactly, but watching. Sizing things up.

He always does that—like he can't fully relax no matter where they go, like something in him is wired to be on edge.

Sofia tells herself she isn't watching him. Not really.

But she notices everything. How his gaze lingers on the locals, how his shoulders stay taut even as he walks toward the gas station with John B. Not suspicious, not hostile, just… aware.

She exhales, rolling her shoulders as she steps onto the uneven pavement. The air here is thick, clinging to her skin, the jungle pressing close in a way that makes her stomach tighten.

The group naturally separates—John B and Rafe heading for the gas station, Pope making a beeline for the nearest market stall, and Sarah stepping toward the tiny convenience store.

She lingers a second longer by the Jeep, her gaze drifting past the edges of the town to where the road disappears into green nothingness. Just beyond that, somewhere deep in the rainforest, is whatever they're chasing.

She just hopes they’re all ready for it.

~~~~~

They finally make it to their rental in a small town, a bit off the beaten path but surprisingly well-kept for being farther from the much larger populous cities. The house is a little rough around the edges—worn paint, creaky floorboards—but cleaner than any of them had anticipated. They shuffle through the doorway, the weight of travel hanging heavy on their shoulders, and quickly divide up sleeping arrangements, all in agreement that sleep is the only decision.

Sofia finally gets into bed just after eleven, exhaustion clinging to her limbs. She sinks into the mattress, clicking off the bedside lamp and letting the room fall into darkness, a dull light from the moon casting shadows. The quiet hum of the outdoors settles around her as she snuggles beneath the covers, shifting until she finds a comfortable position.

A short, light knock rasps against the bedroom door.

"Yeah," she whispers, loud enough for her voice to carry.

The door softly creaks as it opens.

"Hey," Rafe murmurs.

She turns her head, eyes adjusting to the darkness, making out the shadow of him leaning in through the cracked doorway. Blinking against the darkness, she clicks the lamp back on. A soft yellow glow bathes the room, illuminating his face. His blue eyes squint slightly, adjusting to the sudden brightness.

"Hey?" she echoes, propping herself up on her elbows, brow raised.

"You need anything?"

She studies him in the dim lighting, her hazel eyes locking onto his blue, searching for something beneath the surface. Slowly, she shakes her head.

"Just let me know—"

"Rafe…"

He stops speaking. His hand lingers on the doorknob, fingers twitching.

"Yeah?"

"I'm proud of you." She sits up.

His lips part slightly, brow furrowing.

She means it. Rafe doesn't open up easily, not with most people. With her? More than not, but never all the time. With Kiara, though, with someone who sees him and has experienced a completely different side than her, no. And yet, he did.

He shuffles further into the room, cautious.

"For?"

"Sarah and I overheard you the other night. With Kiara."

His expression shifts, his eyes darting to the floor. He exhales sharply. "Ah. That."

"That," she affirms.

Silence stretches between them longer than it should, but it isn't uncomfortable. It's a pause filled with understanding, with the unspoken weight of everything left between them. She has always appreciated their relationship—the ability to just exist together without the need to fill every moment with words.

"How do you feel now?" she asks softly.

She doesn't move as he fully steps into the room. And she doesn't protest when he closes the door behind him—after all, the others are sleeping. It's only considerate.

"Better."

She nods, waiting, sensing there's more. He doesnt quite continue.

"Is there anything else?" she asks as he inches closer to the bed.

After a few moments of staring silently at each other, he sits on the edge like he's testing the waters. She allows it. 

"I'm sorry." 

She doesn't speak.

"I agreed—no more lies, no more secrets. And yet, I kept the ones I hated the most." He exhales, running a hand through his hair. "And of all people, Kiara was brave enough to say something."

"I owe her," Sofia admits.

Rafe's face falls slightly at her words. But it's true. She can't ignore that, without Kiara, she might never have learned these things about him. He never would have wanted her to. So, in a way, she owes Kiara a debt of gratitude for removing the slightly tinged rose-colored glasses from her view of him. 

"Yeah," Rafe mutters, his voice low, picking at a loose thread unraveling from the comforter. His gaze lifts back to hers. "I can't say there aren't more things in my past that I haven't thought of yet. There's a lot, unfortunately. But I think the worst of it, you now know. And how that changes your view of me… I'll live with it."

She exhales slowly. Listening.

"I just… I love you and—"

Fuck it.

She can't help herself. 

Her hands find the back of his neck, pulling him toward her in one swift motion, launching herself at him all the same.

His hands react instantly, gripping her, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her bare thighs as he lifts her onto his lap. Instinctively, she tightens her knees around his hips, their mouths meeting messily. Almost bruising in nature.

She doesn't know how long they stay like that, attached. Fused together, moving together. 

"Sof—" Rafe groans into her mouth as she grinds her hips down softly again, the growing bulge in his jeans pressing against her in a way that makes her stomach tighten. She cradles his head between her hands, fingers slipping into the short hair at the back of his head, scratching lightly.

She breathes him in—his scent, his touch, the way his hands grip her thighs with just enough force to make her shiver. He pulls her hips against his, once, twice, until the friction has her gasping.

She barely registers, pulling herself away from him, her mind clouded. His hands trace up her back, warm against her skin, slipping beneath the hem of her shirt. She lets him lift it, raising her arms. He bunches it up and chucks it away. Her chest is bare. 

Rafe never once hesitates. His eyes search hers first before his hands cup her face, guiding her back into him. She lets him. She lets him shove his tongue in, hands run ragged over her bare skin. She lets him in. 

"Off," she breathes against his lips, her hands moving to the hem of his shirt, fingertips sliding up his chest.

He follows her lead, lifting his arms to let her tug it over his head before gripping her waist and pulling her closer again. Their mouths fusing together, urgent… desperate. She traces her fingertips across his torso, teasing, reveling in the way he shudders beneath her touch.

She feels hot all over, a fire that spreads rapidly as his lips trail down her neck, his tongue flicking against the pulse point just beneath her jaw. Her body shivers, overwhelmed by the push and pull of his hands, his mouth, the way he alternates between rough and impossibly soft.

A moan slips from her lips—soft, unintentional, but enough to startle them both.

She pulls back, breath heavy. She could stop. Be rational. Tell him this isn't going to happen. But she'd be lying to herself.

"Condom?"

Rafe stills, blinking at her, then exhales, eyes half-lidded, "Not really carrying one on me at the moment." He captures her lips briefly.

Disappointment flashes in her expression, her brain reluctantly catching up to reality.

"But," he murmurs, lifting her off his lap with ease, "maybe they have some."

She watches as he strides to the bathroom, disappearing inside. The distant shuffle of cabinets being searched fills the silence. She leans over, grabbing his discarded shirt, covering herself momentarily.

Her libido is raging.

He pops back out of the bathroom carrying a small box. 

"What are the odds this random Airbnb just happens to have a box of condoms?" he muses, stepping back toward the bed. He towers over her as he hands her the box. "It's in Spanish."

She flips the package over, searching for the expiration date. Her heart hammers against her chest.

"Still good?" Rafe asks, voice dropping lower as he leans in, the warmth of his breath skimming her neck. His fingers ghost along her waist, sending a shiver through her. Before she can answer, his lips find hers again, stealing whatever words were about to form on her tongue. The kiss is deep, searing—designed to distract. And it does. Completely.

When they pull back, her breath is uneven, her chest rising and falling against his. She nods. He plucks his shirt from her and drops it back on the floor. 

His hand cups her neck, thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles beneath her jawline. Blue eyes search hers, flickering with something unreadable.

"Are you sure?" he murmurs.

Sofia bites her lip, nodding without hesitation.

His thumb presses lightly against her chin, coaxing her swollen lip free from her teeth before he leans in again, kissing her with slow deliberation—one of those everything-you-want kind of kisses. Toes curled, breath caught, eyes rolled. 

And he does it again as he lays her down, as he peels away her underwear, as he struggles momentarily with his own jeans and briefs, muttering something under his breath that makes her smile against his lips. As he rolls the condom on, pressing another kiss to her bare shoulder, he doesn't rush a single movement.

He kisses her like it's life itself, like he needs it more than air, and she has no complaints.

He's slow with it and sweet and rough. His lips trail down Sofia's neck before biting at the soft spot where her neck meets her shoulder, making her gasp as he finally sinks into her.

An inhale is all she can manage before her hands find his back, nails dragging along the expanse of his shoulder blades, needing something to hold onto.

Rafe groans, the sound low and guttural, his breath warm against her skin. His fingers skim down her ribs, light, and teasing, before settling on her waist, gripping tightly. He shifts, adjusting her beneath him, his touch rough yet reverent, like he wants her exactly the way he has her now.

And then he moves.

His hips roll into hers, sharp, precise, stealing the breath right from her lungs.

His lips claim hers again, slow this time, a contrast to the pace he sets. Sofia tries to match it, to meet him in the middle, but the pleasure unravels her too fast, leaving her pliant underneath him.

Her mouth parts, gasping against his lips.

He, ever the pleaser, drags his lips down her collarbone, across her chest, pressing open-mouthed kisses to every inch of skin he can find. When he speeds up, she feels it everywhere, the coil inside her tightening, stretching unbearably close to breaking.

"Rafe," she groans softly, her fingers curling against the muscles of his back, her body arching.

He takes the opportunity, trailing a hand between them, his hips and fingers moving in tandem. A few long, excruciatingly perfect moments later, the tension inside her snaps.

Everything disappears.

Her breath catches, her body tensing, then unraveling all at once. A rush of warmth spreads through her veins, euphoria and endorphins, lighting up every nerve ending, clouding her thoughts.

Rafe follows soon after, his movements turning erratic as he stutters, his head falling against her shoulder, his breath hot and heavy against her skin.

Sofia brushes a soft hand down his spine, soothing as his hips slow, their ragged breathing the only sound in the dimly lit room.

They just exist in the aftershock, tangled together, chests rising and falling against each other.

Neither of them speaks for a long moment.

————————————

After a minute or two, their breaths slow in unison, syncing naturally. The lingering heat between them fades into something softer. 

Sofia is the first to move. She leans away, slipping from his arms and over the side of the bed, reaching for his discarded shirt. Rafe watches her closely, searching for any flicker of regret, any shift in her expression that might signal second thoughts. But in the dim light, her face remains unreadable.

She pulls the fabric over her head, slipping from his grasp completely as she stands. Without a word, she disappears into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. Shutting him out.

Rafe exhales, running a hand through his hair. He waits. Listens. The faint sound of water running and the floorboards creak as she moves inside. He cleans himself up, letting the minutes stretch. Two. Five. Ten.

This is probably his cue to leave. To slip out quietly, with as little fallout as possible. He's already intruded—on her rest, on her solitude.

With that thought, he pushes himself upright, reaching for his briefs first, then his jeans. He steps into them, fastening the button deliberately.

"Where are you going?"

Her voice startles him. Soft. A little accusatory.

He turns. Sofia stands in the doorway, arms crossed over his shirt, bare legs peeking out from underneath.

"I, uh—" he hesitates, choosing his next words carefully. "Was gonna give you some space."

Her brow furrows. "Why?"

He shifts on his feet. "I figured maybe—"

"That I'd want to be alone after that?"

The air in the room shifts—something heavy settling between them.

She swallows, "I don't wanna be."

His eyes snap back to hers. "What?"

"Alone." She takes a few slow steps forward. "I don't wanna be alone."

Her fingers find the waistband of his jeans, undoing the button again, tugging the zipper down. The small, intimate sound echoes in the quiet room. But it's her touch that undoes him completely—her hands shifting up, cupping his face, thumbs skimming along his cheekbones with a tenderness that makes his chest ache.

"I want you right here."

His breath hitches. He searches Sofia's gaze, looking for hesitation, for doubt. But there is none.

She lets go, stepping around the bed to pull on her underwear as he exhales, letting his jeans drop. He steps out of them once more; the decision is final, easy.

The silence that follows isn't awkward. It's comfortable. Familiar. It's almost domestic how they both peel back the covers and slip beneath them again.

She reaches for him, fingers curling around his bicep in a gentle tug. An invitation. He moves without hesitation, shifting closer until his legs press against hers, his chest warm at her back. One arm tucks beneath his head while the other drapes around her waist, pulling her in.

She laces her fingers through his. Sighs as she settles.

Minutes pass. The room is silent, save for their breathing, slow and steady.

Then, softly—

"I love you."

Rafe exhales deeply. Closes his eyes.

"I love you."

He presses a kiss to her shoulder, lingering.

Fuck. If he isn't absolutely, completely, irrefutably in love with this woman.

Despite everything—despite the weight lingering in the air and thoughts that could haunt him if he let them—he drifts off faster than he has in months.

Lulled by the warmth of her body against his. By the steady rise and fall of her breath.

The best damn sleep he's had in months.

————————————

Next part: Chapter 22

[ren14554]

Want to start from the beginning? Chapter 1

Eternal

Chapter 20: Mexico - Deja Vu

They wait the two agonizing days for the museum to reopen, filling the time with restless lounging or wandering the city in search of distractions. Sofia drags the group out for authentic Mexican food, which is inhaled by all—especially an overly enthusiastic Sarah.

Sofia discreetly observes when Rafe holds the door open for Kiara. Sure, it is an absentminded gesture he extends to all the women. Still, when Kiara throws him a quick— intentional— thanks, Sofia notices. And later, when Rafe makes a sarcastic remark about Groff, his penchant for expensive suits, and his perpetually disheveled appearance, Kiara laughs—the loudest out of everyone. For the first time in days, Kiara looks more at ease.

The morning of, over plates of chilaquiles from a tucked-away restaurant, Pope finally mentions the inevitable. No one protests. Unlike the tense separation of two days ago, this time, they all agree—they go together.

Walking back through the museum now feels a little more important. Everything here now feels like a clue to some grand, ancient treasure people deem worthy of seeking. What that treasure is is now the question to answer. 

"It should be just through here," Sarah says, leading the way. John B trails at her heels, the rest of them following. 

The museum is crowded today, with handfuls of guided tours, families taking their kids on a fun day excursion, and school kids and their teachers running about, not so much as glancing at anything on display. 

When they step into the exhibit, Sofia is struck all over again. Art surrounds them, breathtaking in its precision and the sheer skill of its creation. The Mayans carved stories into stone, bone, and the earth itself. It amazes her.

It also reminds her of the paintings that gather dust in the back of her closet.

"This is it," Pope breathes, standing a few feet away. He glances between his phone and the massive tapestry hanging above them. The group converges around him, eyes following his.

"Is this what you guys found?" Sofia asks, seeking confirmation.

Sarah nods.

Wow.

The tapestry dominates the upper half of the wall, fifteen feet up, faded yet strikingly vibrant. Woven fibers depict an intricate landscape, a winding path stretching across its expanse.

It's definitely a map.

But to where?

A yellow symbol at the bottom resembles an abstract mountain or cave entrance. At the top, a white glyph is shaped like a human face marked with unfamiliar symbols. The path starts near an oval shape with motion-like markings—water, maybe? Off to the side, clusters of pointed triangles suggest mountains.

As the path winds upward, it cuts through twisted, crooked trees before reaching an animal-like glyph speckled with small dots. From there, it veers northeast, skirting the mountains before encountering a tangled mess of squiggles and hooks—what the hell is that? But the trail doesn't stop, curling into an enclosed shape with a thick border. Beside it, a creature—curved ears, elongated snout, fangs bared.

The depiction unsettles Sofia.

Finally, the path ends near three wavy blue lines. The strokes are deliberate and precise.

"Look at this," Pope murmurs, angling his phone to compare. "These symbols—they're like trail markers." His finger hovers over a particular point, a distinct, prominent hill-like glyph in the middle of the trail.

"What does it mean though?" John B asks, stepping closer.

"I'm not sure," Pope admits. "But it's different from the others. It could be important."

Sofia's gaze drifts back to the end of the route, lingering on the blue lines. The longer she stares, the more confident she is—this isn't just water.

"Could be a river," Cleo suggests, eyeing the symbol.

"Or the ocean," Sarah adds.

"We need to decode this properly," Pope mutters, rubbing his jaw.

A few feet away, a glass display case gleams under the overhead lights. Sofia steps toward it, scanning the aged parchment inside—ancient glyphs, carefully drawn translations in Spanish beneath them.

"Guys," she calls. "I think we just found our decoder."

The group crowds around as she reads silently, eyes flicking between the parchments and the tapestry.

"What do you see?" John B asks. The others glance between her and the Spanish codices encased in glass.

Sofia shifts her focus between the two. "The yellow symbol at the bottom and the white at the top are cardinal directions. The yellow is south, and white is north."

"Okay, so it's oriented like a normal map, always pointing north," Pope nods in affirmation.

"The oval with the flowing lines is lago—a lake."

"So we start at a lake," Kiara muses. "There can't be that many nearby, right?"

"The pointed shapes are mountains," Sofia continues, trailing her finger along the glass to keep track.

"So a lake between two mountain ranges," Pope confirms. "Okay, we can work with that."

Then she stops. Her eyes flick back to the symbol Pope pointed out moments ago—the one that stands out among the others. She glances down at the parchment.

Ciudad.

"The hill-like symbol," she murmurs, voice tightening. "It's a city."

Sarah's brow furrows. "Another lost city? How many cities did the Mayans lose?" A few chuckles scatter through the group.

Sofia moves down the list, zeroing in on the enclosed square. "This one translates to cave. And the creature beside it… murciélago."

"What's that mean?" Pope asks.

Sofia's mouth quirks grimly. "Bats."

"So, a cave and bats?" Kiara deadpans. "A bat cave?"

"Looks that way," Sofia mutters, glancing back at the tapestry. Her stomach twists. Her eyes skim the papers again, searching for the final piece—the wavy blue lines. The ink is faded, which makes it harder to make out, but then she sees it.

She squints. "Cenotes."

She peers closer at the worn ink. The adjoining notes are complicated, an older form of Spanish bordering on the Mayan dialect.

"Life." She shakes her head. "It's hard to fully translate, but… life."

Rafe, who had been uncharacteristically silent, finally speaks. "Shit."

A family passing nearby throws him a disapproving glare, quickly ushering their kids away. Rafe rolls his eyes.

"Supernatural sacrifices," Sofia mutters, eyes still moving over the parchment. Muttering the last only to herself, "Life beyond."

"So just everything they could throw at it to make it sound mystical and alluring?" John B grunts. "Perfect."

Cleo snorts. "No one ever said the Mayans made sense."

Sofia suddenly straightens, realization lighting in her hazel eyes. She turns back to the top of the tapestry, something clicking into place.

"Shit," she murmurs.

__________________

"Shit." Rafe curses again, narrowed blue eyes staring out of the room. 

They all turn as Dalia and three of her men walk with purpose through the previous exhibit; their eyes scan the space, searching. Headed straight for the room they've found themselves currently occupying. 

"Fuck." John B mutters, grabbing Sarah by the arm and gently pulling her towards another room off the side. Kiara quickly slips out after them, vanishing into the moving crowd.

Rafe takes a step to follow, but a flood of tourists bottlenecks at the next exhibit's entry, halting him in his tracks. A group of seniors shuffle past, cameras up, while a family with three kids fans out in front of one of the glass displays.

His jaw clenches. Perfect.

Cleo acts fast, gripping Sofia's wrist and pulling her toward a short partition wall. Rafe and Pope follow close behind, pressing themselves against the wall's spackled surface as they inch toward the far end.

Rafe risks a glance—Dalia's men are in the room now. Eyes sharp. Searching.

He can feel Sofia behind him, closer than she's been in days. She doesn't shy away from his closeness.

"We need to move. Now," Cleo whispers. "We're outnumbered."

"They wouldn't try anything in here. Too many eyes," Rafe murmurs, but even as he says it, he's not sure he believes it.

"You willing to gamble on that?" Cleo fires back.

He grits his teeth. "Two more of Dalia's guys near the next entrance." His stomach sinks as he spots them standing near the only way out to the lobby. Watching. Waiting.

"Great," Pope mutters. "Because this wasn't hard enough already."

"We'll never get around them." Sofia murmurs.

"We can't stay here either," Rafe says.

Cleo scans the shifting crowd. Her expression hardens. "Then we don't."

No hesitation.

She steps out from the low wall, head down, slipping through the crowd of tourists and disappearing among them, headed towards the other room. Pope follows hurridly. Rafe holds his breath as one of Dalia's men glances their way. The guy pauses, scanning, brow furrowing. Then he turns away.

Sofia hesitates for half a second, just long enough for Rafe to see her fist curl.

Then she moves, and he stays close, his hand hovering near her lower back. He doesn't touch—just shadows her, keeping her within reach, almost worried he may need to encourage her.

He doesn't trust Dalia.

Or the confusion on her merc's face as his gaze passes over them briefly with suspicion.

They weave through the room's entrance into the next exhibit, nearly running right into some kids running about, before ducking behind a semi-opaque display where Pope and Cleo are currently stopped, peeking around it cautiously.

They all move on to conceal themselves behind the next statue's display, trying to make quick work of getting close to their exit.

Then—

"Shit," Cleo hisses, pulling them to a sudden stop.

Another man. A third merc. Standing in their way.

Rafe reacts before he thinks.

He grabs Sofia's wrist and pivots them toward a massive pillar. Presses her against it. Cages her in. Trying his best to keep her out of any line of sight.

The air locks in Rafe's chest. Too close.

Her breath catches.

His does, too.

Her face is inches from his chest, so close he can see the flicker of confusion in her hazel eyes. The heat of her body radiates onto his, their heartbeats thunderously out of sync. But the moment is gone before he can think too hard about it.

Dalia's guy lingers only briefly, eyes scanning the room diligently.

Rafe forces himself to stay still, every muscle tight, with fear if he shuffles too noticeably, the guy's eyes would surely zero in on him. 

Finally, out of the corner of Rafe's gaze, the guy turns, stepping away. Walking back to the other side of the room, now surveying the other open areas.

Rafe exhales.

"Close one," he mutters. Sofia doesn't say anything. Just glances up at him.

Cleo gestures sharply at him, coming out of her own alcove with Pope. Move. They swiftly inch past the last few displays, getting closer to the exit. However, the two men at the large opening haven't moved, still watching.

Pope pauses, glancing about before he spots something—a museum worker shoving a supply cart through a side door. "There," Pope mutters.

The second the door starts to swing shut, they haul ass and slip through one by one, pressing against the wall as the door locks shut behind them. Outside, the warm air hits fast, but they all take a collective sigh of relief.

~~~~~

They don't stop. Sarah and Kiara text them to meet a few blocks away, so they move quickly, winding through side streets, past vendors and storefronts, until they're far enough away to breathe.

Finally, they reach a set of stone steps near an old fountain. Only then does Rafe stop, inhaling deep.

John B, Sarah, and Kiara are already there, waiting.

"Took you long enough," Kiara quips, arms crossed.

"Yeah, well, we ran into company," Cleo breathes, rolling her shoulders.

Pope remarks. "Maybe Groff and his team aren't as ahead of us as we thought."

"Of course not. Unless it's us showing them to the treasure." Sarah comments. On the steps, she currently lounges comfortably back into her boyfriend. 

"What does it all mean though?" John B adds, glancing at Sofia as she paces slowly at the bottom of the staircase, "You found something right before we were interrupted. You were talking under your breath. Cenotes. What'd you find?"

Sofia stops and regards the rest of them. Rafe waits.

"Basically, it alluded to a cenote at the end of the path."

"You know something else?" Kiara states, calling her out.

Sofia swallows, an uneasy energy buzzing from her, "There are legends in Mexican culture. Grandparents telling bedtime stories to their grandkids," she states to curious ears. "My grandma sometimes told stories of young lovers who bathed in the waters and had eternal life and love. Others say these lagoons appear, and if you jump in them, they give you immortality, youth, or… whatever." She swallows. He almost wants to reach out in some way. He doesn't. 

She continues, "They aren't too popular in greater culture… at least not typically regarding Mexico." A few of them glance between her and themselves. Sofia adds, "Ponce De Leon was after the pool of eternal youth, but apparently, he wasn't looking in the right place."

Rafe speaks up. "So what? Are you saying Groff believes all this leads to that?"

"Is this man that deranged to think he can find a pool of immortality?" Kiara scoffs. "Truly, he has lost it."

"Did he ever really have his sanity to begin with?" John B retorts.

They all silently agree that probably not.

Cleo continues, "So he thinks the pools grant life. Does he want to live forever? Or maybe he wants to find them and expose them to the world for a price."

"That's the problem. The Cenotes. Like the one back at Dzibilchaltún. Most believe that back in ancient times, they were portals to other worlds. People would make sacrifices to them, hoping for prosperity in return," Sofia explains. "In reality, they're just natural sinkholes that most people have already discovered and swim in daily for a steep tourist fee."

"So they're useless."

"More or less. The legend still stands, and stories are still told, but I'm pretty sure no one in the present day has proven eternal life, and thousands of people have bathed in their waters. It's hard to miss them with the hundreds scattered about Mexico."

"We should get back to the house before they happen upon us somehow. Right now, they think we're decomposing in a tomb in the rainforest." John B states. He pulls Sarah up from her perch on the steps. "We can continue this there without potential prying ears."

The rest of them silently agree, choosing to follow without protest. Instinctually, Rafe passes a quick hand across Sofia's shoulder blades. She glances up at him with a look he can't quite trace but doesn't shy away. At least not physically.

__________________

The night air is a mixture of muggy, hot air and the cool breeze from the distant Gulf of Mexico. Sofia leans back in her chair, absently tracing the condensation on her beer bottle as the conversation drifts. They've all overeaten, the remnants of their takeout containers still clutter the patio table. A few dim lanterns cast soft light over the group, flickering shadows stretching along the rental's siding.

"So what if the legends are true?" John B says, his voice slow, thoughtful. "The path we plan to go down leads to a pool that could grant life forever."

"We monetize it?" Cleo jokes, lifting her beer in a mock toast before sipping.

"Well, Groff seems to want to do something similar," Rafe mutters, swirling the beer in his hand. "He sold the crown for money. No doubt he plans to sell this place—whatever it is—for a price too."

"You know…" Sarah shifts slightly in her seat, pulling her legs onto the chair. "I'm still stuck on some of those glyph translations. A bat cave? I don't know if I want to go down a path that includes a cave full of bats."

"According to a site I was reading, bats were seen as guardians of the underworld," Pope supplies. "A harbinger of danger, so to speak."

Sarah grimaces. "That's... comforting."

"I made a rough translation," Sofia says awkwardly, pushing her beer around the table. "The cave was definitely there, but it could be the name of the cave, not necessarily what's inside it."

"Sure," Sarah says, but she doesn't sound convinced.

"The first landmark was a lake, right?" John B checks in and looks at Sofia for confirmation. She nods.

"So we need to find a lake between two mountain ranges," he continues.

"Or hills," Pope supplies, glancing between his phone screen and the conversation.

John B nods. "Or hills. And then we follow the path. It can't hurt to at least see where it leads."

"Just like that?" Rafe asks, finally looking up. There's something in his tone—maybe skepticism or the same wariness she's felt since they walked out of the museum.

"We can't give up now," John B presses.

"But what does this actually benefit us?" Sarah asks. "What happens when we get there?"

"If there's a way we can make it impossible for Groff to find this place, the better," Kiara states with finality. "He doesn't deserve eternal life or to make a profit off the promise of it."

"Pope—"

"I'm on it," Pope interrupts, already clicking through his phone. "I'll start pulling up possible locations."

There's a quiet moment, the night settling around them again. Sofia takes a slow sip of her beer, letting the coolness contrast the warmth in the air.

"So we're on the hunt for another lost city or two," Rafe mutters, shaking his head slightly.

Sofia looks at him, studying how he's watching the others, almost like he's waiting for someone else to voice whatever doubt he's still holding onto. Instead of calling him out, she lets the corner of her mouth twitch slightly.

"You say that like you're surprised," she murmurs loud enough for him to hear.

He glances at her, something unreadable passing through his expression before he exhales, tipping his beer toward his lips. "Yeah, well. You all better hope there's more than just bats waiting at the end of this."

Sofia doesn't look away, the ghost of a smile. "Guess we'll find out together."

__________________

Next part: Chapter 21

[ren14554]

Want to start from the beginning? Chapter 1

Eternal

Chapter 19: Mexico - Too Late to Say Sorry?

She slept a little better last night. Thinking back to Rafe—his genuine hurt at keeping her in the dark about his past—made her feel like maybe he understood the weight of who he says he was. What he did.

But that doesn't mean she will let him back in that easily. She's kind, not dumb.

Breakfast is a little less tense today. Sofia and Rafe still sit at opposite ends of the table, and she still converses with the others, not caring how Rafe broods about it or not. When Pope announces they're ready to head to the museum, Sofia practically jumps from her seat, eager for a distraction.

It should have been a simple trip.

Should have.

"Shit." Sarah groans from the top of the museum steps, stopping so suddenly that Sofia nearly bumps into her.

"What?" Sofia asks, scanning their surroundings as Cleo and Pope catch up. At first, nothing seems out of place—the museum's towering walls, the heavy glass doors, and a couple of stragglers milling around the entrance. Then, she follows Sarah's pointed finger to a sign taped beside the door.

CERRADO POR MANTENIMIENTO  -

Reapertura en dos días

CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE -

Reopening in two days

Sofia's stomach sinks. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Seriously?" Cleo mutters, placing her hands on her hips. "This just had to happen now."

Sarah sighs dramatically, tilting her head back toward the sky. "Of course it did. Nothing about any of this can be easy."

Pope rubs a hand over his face. "Two days. That's shit. Groff is gonna get there first."

Sofia frowns. "What exactly is he gonna find outside of this? If it's just information, wouldn't he want access to all of this, too?"

"He's no doubt got connections," Pope replies, his tone tight with frustration. "Which means he might already know about it. This was supposed to be our chance to get ahead."

Sofia glances at the museum's locked doors and then back to the group. "So… what do we do? Just sit around and wait?"

Cleo exhales sharply. "Or we find another way in."

Sarah shoots her a look. "You wanna break into a museum?"

Cleo shrugs. "Not like we haven't broken into worse."

Pope shakes his head. "Too risky. If security catches us, we're screwed. Dont need to be held up for longer."

Sofia exhales, rocking back on her heels. She doesn't like this—not the waiting, not the uncertainty. But there's no real alternative. "Guess we've got two days to figure something out."

Sarah groans again but suddenly perks with a smile.

Cleo glances over as they trek back to the Airbnb, "What?"

"I have an idea."

~~~~~

They return to the house with the bad news, Pope leading the way as they enter the door. Rafe, John B, and Kiara emerge from different parts of the house, their expressions falling into the same disappointment currently reflected on their own faces.

"Well?" John B asks, already sensing the answer.

"Closed," Pope sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "For two days."

Kiara groans. "You're shitting us?"

"Nope," Cleo mutters, dropping onto the couch. "Groff's probably already ten steps ahead of us."

A beat passes, frustration settling over all of them. But then, as if utterly unfazed by the setback, Sarah suddenly brightens, a grin stretching across her face.

Sofia raises an eyebrow. "What?"

John B looks just as wary. "Sarah. Sweet pea, why the crazed happiness?"

"I'm hungry—"

Pope and Kiara groan at the same time while John B chuckles. Even Rafe looks like he's fighting a smile.

"Hey! I have to sustain myself and this little nugget," Sarah defends, rubbing her stomach briefly. "And you know what? I think the girls and I should go to the market. Let's have a cookout."

Kiara tilts her head. "A cookout?"

"Yeah," Sarah says eagerly. "We get some good food and take a break from all the stress. Win-win for everyone. The girls and I can go grab food, and you boys can grab charcoal somewhere."

"Sounds like a good time," Cleo agrees with a nod. "Not like we've got anything else we can do anyway."

John B smirks. "And beer?"

Sarah shoots him a knowing look. "How about you guys get charcoal and beer, and we'll stick to the food?"

"Sounds good to me," Pope says, already stepping toward the door.

Sofia exhales, shifting her weight as her gaze flickers to Rafe. He's standing slightly apart, scratching the back of his head like he doesn't quite know where he fits into the conversation. For a brief moment, he hesitates, but then he nods, stepping closer to the guys.

Sofia doesn't say anything, but she notices.

She's just smart enough to observe it for now.

~~~~~

The sun is high in the sky as Sarah, Kiara, Cleo, and Sofia weave through the narrow streets toward a small market. The air is thick with the scent of grilled meat from a nearby street vendor, and life doesn't feel as grave for the first time in days. Almost as if she can actually be carefree for a little while.

Inside, the store is crowded but manageable, packed with fresh produce and shelves stocked to the brim with local fare. Sarah grabs a basket and immediately heads toward the small meat section.

"Alright, we'll get the basics," she says, scanning the options. "Burgers, stuff for sides, maybe some fruit—"

"I'll go grab the buns," Kiara says, disappearing down another aisle.

That leaves her standing with Cleo and Sarah in the middle of the store. Sofia lingers behind them slightly, fingers brushing over a row of avocados as her thoughts wander. She barely registers Sarah and Cleo debating the best type of meat for grilling. Her mind is elsewhere—still stuck on the past couple of days, on the mess of it all.

Sarah notices.

"Hey," she nudges Sofia gently, voice softer. "How’re you holdin’ up?”

She exhales slowly. "I don't know." Sarah's head tilts, waiting. "It's a lot," Sofia finally admits.

Sarah nods, tossing a head of lettuce into the basket. "Yeah. My brother can be… complicated."

Sofia lets out a small, humorless laugh. "That's an understatement."

Cleo scoffs, tossing in some seasonings. "That boy's a walking red flag."

Sarah sighs but doesn't argue. "I'm not saying what he did wasn't bad. Because it was. And I get why you're mad, Sofia. If I were you, I'd feel the same way."

Sofia observes Sarah carefully. "But?"

Sarah lifts a shoulder. "But… I also know he's been trying. He's still got a long way to go, and honestly? I don't think he even knows how to fix everything. But the fact that he told you—even if he wasn't the originator of the news—means something. Right?"

Sofia exhales slowly, unsure how to respond.

"She's right," Cleo adds. "Rafe's not a saint, but I've seen worse men try less. Just don't let him off easy. Make him prove it."

Sofia huffs a small laugh. "Oh, trust me, I'm not."

Just then, Kiara returns, plopping a bag of buns into the basket. "Okay, what'd I miss?"

"Sarah defending her brother," Cleo smirks.

Kiara rolls her eyes. "Shocker."

Sofia actually laughs, the sound surprising even herself. For the first time in days, it feels genuine.

As they approach the front, she stops by the first aid section, grabbing a pack of butterfly bandages. Her incision is finally starting to scar; the ointment she received back in Tokyo works wonders after repeated redressing over the past week and a half. The raw redness has begun to fade into a softer pink, the scar blending increasingly into her hairline daily.

When they return, the sun has already started its slow descent, casting the house in warm golden hues. The guys have begun figuring out the grill on the back patio—Pope adjusting the heat, John B cracking open another beer, and Cleo swiping one for herself without hesitation.

Sofia lingers for a second, watching.

Rafe stands near the grill, beer in hand, fiddling with something on the side. To Sofia's surprise, he makes a comment, and Pope laughs heartily. Even John B smirks, clinking his beer against Rafe's in some unspoken truce.

It's small. But it's there.

And, just briefly, the corner of her lips turns up.

__________________

The evening air is thick with humidity, the scent of charred meat and salt lingering as Rafe steps away from the small gathering. The distant murmur of conversation fades behind him, swallowed by the quiet hum of the Mexican night. His shoes crunch against the grass as he rounds the side of the house, drawn forward as if on instinct.

She's there.

Kiara sits alone in the corner of the yard, curled into herself in a way that feels out of place. She's staring off at a bush currently bursting with bright, unfamiliar flowers—vivid reds and oranges, their colors almost unnatural in the dim light.

Rafe hesitates for half a second before pushing forward.

"Hey."

Kiara jolts, nearly jumping out of her skin.

She whips around, brown eyes flashing—wary. Guarded. Her shoulders stiffen, her arms curling tighter around herself like she's bracing for impact.

Yeah. He deserves that.

Ignoring the tension simmering between them, Rafe lowers himself into the rickety lawn chair across from her, wincing slightly when it creaks beneath his weight. Kiara doesn't relax and doesn't soften. She just shifts slightly, her gaze steady, watching him like she's waiting for whatever game he's about to potentially start.

Rafe exhales, running a hand through his short hair. "There's probably a lot of things I should say." His voice is rough and raw in a way that he doesn't quite know how to fix. "More than you probably have the energy to listen to."

The silence stretches between them.

"But, uh… I scared you." The admission leaves his mouth before he can second-guess it. "I— hurt you. And I think back sometimes and wonder why I wasn't just a decent human being. We both know I wasn't decent. I don't even think you could consider me a human back then."

Kiara scoffs, low and quiet. "Agreed."

Rafe lets out a dry laugh. He walked right into that one.

He drags a hand down his face, exhaling. "I, uh… I'm sorry." The words feel foreign on his tongue, stiff and unpolished but genuine all the same. When he finally forces himself to meet her gaze, it's unsettling, the way she holds it—blue clashing against brown, guarded but searching.

"The things I did," he continues, voice softer now, "I wish I could take them back. But I can't. And I know you have everyright to hate my existence for the rest of your life. It's warranted."

Kiara says nothing. She just… watches.

She's reading him, analyzing—searching for holes in the apology he's laying out for her to scrutinize. And honestly? She has every reason to.

"I just—" Rafe exhales, voice rougher than before. "I hope that maybe, one day, you can at least forgive me for the person I was. That you can see that, despite better judgment, I'm trying." He hesitates, his jaw tightening for a split second before the truth tumbles out. "Sof makes me want to try."

Kiara doesn't even blink. "She's too good for you."

Rafe lets out a weak chuckle. "I, uh… yeah. I agree."

"If I were her," Kiara continues, voice unwavering, "I would've already run for the hills and never looked back."

His stomach twists. He shifts in his seat, glancing away briefly—because fuck if that thought hasn't already haunted him. That maybe Sofia already has.

"But," Kiara adds, "that would've been for the Rafe of two years ago."

His head snaps up at that, startled.

She's watching him again, something unreadable flickering behind her gaze. It's not forgiveness, not yet, but it's something softer than before.

"Thank you," She murmurs. Then, the corner of Kiara's mouth twitches for a second, the ghost of a smirk playing at the edges. "I can see fourteen-year-old Rafe in there somewhere," she muses. "Before puberty and loneliness scared the shit out of him."

Rafe huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. "Ah, yes. Weak teenage Rafe."

"He was a good one." Kiara's voice is quieter now, almost thoughtful. "Is a good one."

Rafe stills.

Because he knows what she's saying. What she means.

That the version of him that cared—the one that wasn't trying to live up to some impossible, empty legacy—that version wasn't weak. The way he had buried that poor kid, shoved him so deep no one could recognize him anymore. People wanted a leader. They wanted someone who wasn't afraid, so he pretended he had no feelings. You look out for number one. That or you look out for Ward Cameron. And anyone against that was the enemy.

Maybe it was all just fear.

A breath leaves his chest, lighter than before. He swallows. "Thanks for hearing me out."

Kiara shrugs, stretching out her legs slightly. "Actions speak louder than words." Then, after a beat, "But I guess everyone deserves a second chance… or fifth." She quirks a brow, smirking slightly. It's still reserved, but it's there.

Again—deserved.

Rafe smiles. And for the first time in years, his sister's best friend—the girl he's known for the better part of his entire life—actually smiles back.

Something shifts inside his chest.

The weight isn't gone, but it feels… better.

Even just a little.

Now, if only he could prove it to Sof.

__________________

Sofia's gaze drifts as she listens to Pope and Cleo joke about something ridiculous and John B expertly flip the burgers sizzling on the grill. Over at the side of the house, Sarah stands awkwardly near the corner, wedged between a few potted vegetables and some gardening equipment.

Sofia's eyes narrow.

Slowly, she peels away from the others, gripping her beer bottle as she approaches. The closer she gets, the more she can make out Sarah's posture—rigid, eyes flicking between her and something out of sight.

Then, as soon as Sarah notices her, she lifts a finger to her lips.

Stay quiet.

Sofia stops. Rafe's voice carries in the air. 

I'm sorry I hurt you. The things I did… I wish I could take it all back. But I can't. And I know you have everyright to hate my existence for the rest of your life. It's warranted.

Sofia swallows.

Beside her, Sarah casts a sidelong glance, gauging her reaction. But Sofia doesn't move, doesn't breathe, just listens.

I hope maybe one day you can at least forgive me for the person I was. 

Her heart stirs. Just slightly.

Kiara's Thank you.

She and Sarah stare at one another, neither giving much away. Still, they stay silent as Rafe and Kiaras' soft laughter carries with the wind. They glance around the corner. Rafe and Kiara are still a little stiff, but they're not hostile.

Not angry.

Not enemies.

Sarah exhales, smiling softly. "Wasn't expecting that."

Sofia wasn't either. To be honest.

She smiles.

~~~~~

The cookout has settled into an easy rhythm. Smoke has long since curled into the dusky sky, leaving only the lingering scent of charred meat and roasted vegetables. The air is thick with warmth, laughter rolling lazily across the yard, blending with the low hum of conversation.

But Sofia's attention is elsewhere.

"What are you doing?" She quirks a brow at Pope, watching as he frowns at the old broken stone pendant, clearly deep in thought.

He exhales sharply through his nose. "Trying to figure out how to keep this thing together so we don't lose a piece."

John B chuckles from his spot, beer bottle balanced loosely in his grip. "Pretty sure this is the most mundane thing I've ever seen stump you."

Sofia inches closer, her gaze flicking over the four fragmented pieces spread across the table.

Pope sighs, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Yeah, well, stone's hard to put back together once it's broken."

Sofia tilts her head, and then suddenly, she has an idea.

She quickly slips away toward the side of the house, where those few potted plants sit in varying states of despair. Near them, a thin wire coil peeks out, meant to support tomato plants but perfect for her use. She also snags a pair of rusted pliers, the metal firm in her grasp.

By the time she returns, Pope and John B are still deep in thought, frowning at the artifact, which they think might suddenly reveal its secrets if they stare hard enough. Or magically mold back together.

Sofia squeezes into a spot at the table next to Pope, setting her beer down with a quiet clink. She takes another swig before plucking up two diagonal fragments, turning them over in her hands.

Pope glances at her, brow furrowed. "What are you doing?"

She doesn't answer immediately, instead unwinding a portion of the wire—probably more than she needs—and cutting the end with the pliers. With a steady hand, she aligns the pieces, slipping the wire around, twisting and tying, and adjusting until the pieces hold. She carefully and deliberately works on the other two when it makes sense.

Finally, she leans back and holds it up.

Pope takes it from her hands, inspecting how the thin wire wraps around the carved stone, holding it together with delicate percision. A slow smile creeps onto his face. "Where in the world did you learn that?"

John B gives a low whistle, tipping his bottle toward her in approval. "Nice."

She shrugs, taking another sip of her drink. "Sometimes, I make earrings and necklaces for friends and family. Thought maybe it might be a great, albeit larger than needed, pendant of sorts."

Pope dangles the larger than needed necklace of sorts in the air. "Very rapper of you," Pope jokes, grinning.

She and John B laugh at the off branded comment.

"This is amazing," Pope adds sincerely, turning the pendant over in his fingers. "Thanks."

"No problem."

John B stretches his arms over his head before nodding toward the pendant. "You think this thing is still needed?"

Pope hesitates, then shrugs. "We technically haven't needed to use it yet. But it doesn't hurt to hold onto.”

Sofia studies the artifact, feeling its weight in the air. "What do you think this all leads to?"

"I hope something worthwhile," Pope says after a moment. "I don't know. We've seen a lot in our time. I'm ready for something more, I guess."

Sofia hums in understanding, then asks the question that lingers in her mind. "And Groff?"

John B grimaces. "Groff thinks whatever this is, it's worth the chase. Even after we took it out from under him. Kiara wants revenge, and I guess Rafe is still after his money."

"We won't know until we know," Pope says firmly. "We're still in this regardless. We just need to stick together."

Sofia nods, letting his words settle between them.

There's a beat of silence before John B smirks, leaning forward with a playful gleam in his eyes. "Y'know, Sofia, if this artifact-hunting thing doesn't work out, you might have a future in jewelry-making. Could be the next Cartier."

She rolls her eyes, laughing despite herself. "Oh yeah, because that's exactly what I aspire to be."

Pope grins, tossing an arm around her shoulders. "Hey, I'd buy from you."

Sofia shakes her head with a chuckle, feeling the tension ease. Laughter something she willingly seeks out as of now.

__________________

His sister shoots him a soft smile before following John B up the stairs, disappearing for the night. Kiara had already retired earlier, and Pope and Cleo linger only briefly, finishing up in the kitchen, their quiet conversation blending with the faint clinking of dishes.

Sofia laughs softly at something Cleo says. The sound twists something deep in his gut. Jealousy. He used to make her smile like that and laugh without hesitation. But tonight, all she's given him are short glances and wary hazel eyes.

Fuck.

She bids the couple goodnight, her voice light but distant, before turning toward the stairs, ready to disappear like the rest.

"Sofia," he tests.

She halts at the first step, turning just enough to regard him.

"If you need anything, just let me know," he offers, his voice steady but uncertain. "I can grab it for you, so you don't have to come back down."

Her eyes analyze him carefully. Still guarded.

He knows his offer is selfish—some desperate attempt to keep her near, even for a moment longer—but the meaning stands. Should she ever need anything, he'd be there.

He's sticking by her.

She nods curtly, blinking. "Thanks, but I think I'm good."

He nods. Finality in Sofia's tone. He stares down at his hands, wringing between his knees, before her voice hits his ears.

"Good night, Rafe."

His head snaps just in time to catch her retreating form, the soft patter of her footsteps carrying her away.

He exhales. "Night, Sof."

Sleep doesn't come quickly. But at least tonight, Rafe gets more than the night before.

__________________

Next part: Chapter 20

[ren14554]

Want to stat from the beginning? Chapter 1

Eternal

Chapter 18: Mexico - On the Hunt

They make it back through the darkness, Sofia's flashlight illuminating the Pogues' wrecked Jeep and the secondary one she rented—much to the Pogues' dismay. The night air hums with the distant sound of voices, the group discussing their next move a few yards away, but Sofia barely registers it.

"Sof."

His voice is different. Lacking that smooth, self-assured ease that he wore with pride in Kildare, the effortless arrogance he threw around at the club. Worlds away from the detached woe-is-me she often made excuses in her own head for when he would convince her everyone else was just out to get him.

Them. 

She turns, catching the way Rafe stands just outside the reach of her light, the sharp angles of his face softened by the glow. He looks at her, waiting, and for a fleeting second, it reminds her of all the times he'd sought her out before. But things were different now.

"I didn't come back for you," she says, voice steady despite the knot in her chest.

Rafe's expression flickers, his brows drawing together. He doesn't speak a word.

"I'm done sitting around being some kind of prop for you," she continues, "or whatever solution you think I am for the things you've done in your past. Being with me, protecting me—whatever you think this is—doesn't absolve you from keeping all that from me." Her breath wavers, but she presses on. "From someone you were supposed to be a partner to."

She breathes deeply. "I'm here for me."

"If you're here for yourself," he finally asks, frustration threading through his words, "then why come back?"

Sofia exhales slowly. She shuts out the chatter from the others and lets herself exist in this moment, just the two of them. "Because," she admits, voice almost breaking, "despite my feelings right now… leaving didn't feel quite right."

His eyes search hers, a question lingering there that she doesn't want to answer.

She forces a small, sharp laugh, extending her arms out briefly. "Apparently, my gut was right."

Rafe shifts closer as if he wants to reach out for her, but he hesitates. "Will you just—"

"Don't."

Whatever he was about to say dies on his tongue.

"Whatever you want to try, whatever you think will fix this—" she shakes her head. "I can't stomach it right now."

He frustrates her. More than anything, he frustrates her.

"I'm sorry," he says anyway.

"Stop." The word is sharp, cutting through the night. She sees his face scrunch up slightly, but she doesn't let herself care.

"Sofia—"

"Rafe," she exhales, voice tight, tired. "Fuck you."

His brows lift slightly, caught off guard. "Really?"

"Yeah. Because I'm mad at you." Her eyes burn, but she refuses to look away. "I'm mad at you and appalled by what you did. What you didn't tell me. What you lied to me about."

His jaw clenches.

"After everything…" She trails off, almost wishing she could stop there. But the truth tugs at her, the part she hates to admit. "And yet, somehow, I still care about you."

The silence stretches between them.

"So if you ever want me to hear you out without being disgusted," she murmurs, "just… don't. Not right now."

Rafe exhales, long and quiet. When he finally speaks, it's barely above a whisper.

"I'm sorry."

It's softer this time. Raw in a way that twists something in her chest.

She takes a breath, steadying herself.

"Are you hurt?" she asks instead, her voice barely above the night's breeze.

Rafe blinks at the shift in conversation, studying her carefully. His hand twitches slightly—like he wants to reach for her, to ghost his fingers over her wrist and pull her close. But he doesn't.

"Not physically," he says at last.

She swallows, her resolve cracking.

"Good." She doesn't know if it's spiteful, but a part of her wants him to feel something. Hurt, guilt, anything. Because that means he cares.

That's more than Groff ever seems to feel, which grows her confidence that maybe that Rafe, the one Rafe himself says is his past, is truly someone she'll never have to meet in person and is genuinely gone and dead. That her Rafe is the one she can rightfully still hold a candle for.

"Sofia. Rafe." Cleo's voice cuts through the quiet, calling from yards away. "Let's get outta here."

Sofia nods tightly, grateful for the out. She turns without another word, heading back toward the group. As she moves, Kiara falls into step beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, its weight grounding her. Sofia offers her a small, tired smile, and for once, Kiara's smile reaches her eyes before she lets go.

John B eyes their Jeep with an exhausted groan. "We're definitely not getting our deposit back."

Pope sighs, lifting his battered laptop. "And no more easy research."

As if to punctuate his point, the screen—barely hanging on by a thread of wires—finally detaches, falling into the dirt with a sad plop.

Cleo pats his arm. "We'll get you another—"

"Nope," Rafe interjects, voice firm. "The credit card's already ten grand from the limit. A new laptop is not a need." He carefully steps to the wrecked Jeep and through the window. He comes back out with the screen of his phone casting a blue hue across his face. 

Sarah sighs along with Pope at Rafe's denial. 

Sofia pipes up, her voice still a little rough from earlier. "We can hit up an Internet café."

Pope frowns. "They have those here?"

"There aren't many anymore. But there used to be. And if not, there's always the library."

Rafe is behind her again, his presence like a shadow. It irritates her. But it also settles her in a way she hates to acknowledge.

She pulls open the driver's side door, climbing in before she can second-guess it. John B takes the passenger seat, Sarah halfway in his lap, arm slung around his shoulders. The others squeeze into the back—Kiara, Cleo, Pope—and Rafe last, wedged against the door.

Sofia grips the wheel a little tighter as she pulls away and gets them back on the road. She doesn't even register what station is playing when Sarah toggles the radio on, but she doesn't bother changing it. She just starts driving.

No one really speaks. They're all exhausted. And Sofia? She's tired in a way that seeps into her bones.

At some point, though, Kiara sighs. "First thing in the morning, we figure out those map symbols. Then we decide our next steps."

A beat of quiet.

"For JJ."

Sofia glances in the rearview mirror, catching the way the others nod. No one argues. They just let it sit, the weight of it pressing against them all.

The rest of the drive is tense in a way Sofia can't quite put into words. Maybe it's her own frustration bleeding into the space, perhaps it's Rafe's, or maybe it's just the exhaustion prevailing.

When they finally pull up to their rental, there's no relief. Just the sound of doors clicking open and feet shuffling against the pavement.

They don't even talk about sleeping arrangements. They're too drained to care.

Sofia makes it upstairs, barely kicking off her shoes before collapsing onto the bed. She should shower. Change. Something.

But she can't.

Her senses remain on edge, listening for every creak, every shuffle of another person. She pictures Rafe downstairs, stretched across the couch—too tall, too uncomfortable. His legs were most likely either hanging off or so uncomfortably curled up. 

She internally berates that little part of her that feels sorry for him. 

She swallows. Closes her eyes.

She tells herself she doesn't care.

And for tonight, she almost believes it.

__________________

The hardest part is knowing Sofia is just a few rooms away, and he can't do anything about it.

He spends the night staring at the popcorn ceiling, shifting on the couch every now and again, trying to find a position that doesn't make his back ache. But comfort is impossible. And so is sleep. His mind races in circles, over and over again.

What he did. What he didn't do. The lies. The omissions. How it all unraveled.

Every time he tries to shut it off—to focus on something else, anything else—it loops back around, dragging him through every wrong decision, every missed opportunity to come clean.

But if he had told Sofia everything from the start… she never would've given him the time of day.

A bitter part of him wonders if that would've been easier. If he had never let her in, never let himself get attached, maybe he wouldn't be lying here now, staring at the ceiling like a fucking idiot, his chest tight with something he doesn't know how to fix.

But the truth is, he would've been a different person without her.

Sofia saw him in a way no one else ever had—actually tried to understand him, trusted that he was capable of making the right choices even when he didn't deserve it.

She came back. Maybe not for him, as she says, but she still came back. She saved them from eternity stuck in the Pyramid.

He loves her.

Irreparably so.

So the fact she's angry at him— livid— and he can't do anything to change her mind tears him from limb to limb. 

It eats at him, gnaws at his ribs until the first traces of daylight start to creep through the Airbnb's windows. He blinks, realizing he hasn't slept—not even for a second. With a sigh, he sits up, elbows braced against his knees, rubbing a hand down his face.

Around 10 a.m., the creaking of the stairs pulls his attention. John B slows on the last few steps, his gaze locking onto Rafe's.

Pity.

Rafe hates it.

"Morning," John B mutters, offering a small, unassuming smile.

Rafe just nods, too drained to care.

"Pope and I are heading to the library in a bit," John B says, shifting awkwardly at the foot of the stairs. "Wanna come?"

An olive branch. Or maybe Sarah just directed him to make sure Rafe didn't spend the entire day brooding on the damncouch.

He exhales sharply but nods. Might as well get out instead of sitting here, slowly losing his mind in the same space as Sofia—his ex—and a group of Pogues who probably wouldn't lose sleep if he vanished. John B acknowledges it, continuing his stroll to the kitchen to start breakfast. 

Breakfast is quiet. Sofia barely looks at him, her gaze flickering past his, maybe once or twice. She focuses on the other girls, chatting about something Rafe doesn't bother paying attention to.

When plates start stacking up, he silently volunteers to clean, needing anything to keep his hands and mind busy. Sofia murmurs a soft "thanks" when he takes her dish, which feels wrong in every way possible. Too polite. Too distant.

But he doesn't comment on it and, more than anything, avoids bringing attention to it. It's bad enough that everyone around him knows everything that happened between them.

~~~~~

By noon, he follows John B and Pope into the city, walking twenty minutes under the heavy sun to a library Pope found on his phone.

The computers in the back are old, nowhere near what they're used to back home, but they work well enough. Rafe and John B lean over Pope's shoulder as he clicks through search results, scanning for anything that resembles the carvings they found, for any sign of a Mayan map… all they seem to get time and time again are visualizations of what the Mayan society could have resembled centuries ago. 

Page after page, nothing.

John B and Rafe break off to search through the books, pulling a couple of texts on Mayan art and history. But they're just… normal books. There is nothing hidden between the pages, and there are no conveniently placed translations thatanswer their questions. Just the same shit they could've found in any generic history class.

By the time they circle back, Pope is thirty-five pages deep in search results, scrolling fast.

"I don't think we're gonna find what we're looking for," John B sighs, rubbing his scruffy jaw.

Pope tries to reason. "We could go back to the temple—"

"What good would that do?" Rafe interrupts. "There was nothing there that told us what it actually meant."

"We can't quit now," Pope says.

"We're not quitting," John B assures him, but the frustration is evident in his voice.

"There's gotta be a map or something," Pope argues. "How the hell has no one charted that thing?"

"Are you sure we aren't chasing loose threads right now?" John B shifts. Rafe crosses his arms silently, watching the exchange closely. "We could be going down a rabbit hole we shouldn't even be looking down."

"There has to be something," Pope argues. "People don't build puzzles unless there's something worth hiding."

"Maybe it's a red herring," Rafe suggests. John B nods like that makes sense. "A distraction to lead us away from what they really wanted to hide out there. Exactly like what it feels like we’re doing right now."

Pope shakes his head. "It doesn't make sense to me." He's already back to typing, back to searching.

Rafe glances at the screen. Something about Mayan maps—carvings in stone, paintings on walls, tapestry—

Tapestry.

"Wait," Rafe says, straightening. "Wasn't there a huge map tapestry thing in the museum? In the exhibit with all artwork?"

"The hanging tapestry?" Pope echoes, brows furrowing. Then, something clicks. "Yeah… yeah, there was. Quite a few come to think of it."

Pope types fast, searching for images of the museum. A few grainy, pixelated photos pop up, and he pulls out his phone to compare them to the one he took back in the Pyramid.

"This is it," he mutters. "This has to be it."

John B claps a hand on Rafe's shoulder. "Good thinking."

Rafe doesn't respond, but something settles in his chest—something almost like relief.

They head back mid-afternoon, the city's heat clinging to them as they walk.

__________________

"Rafe pointed out that the map tapestry was hanging in the museum," John B relays. "It's in that one exhibit with all the art."

Pope nods, already thinking ahead. "A few of us could take a field trip back there tomorrow."

"I totally want to go," Sarah says, sitting up straighter, energy buzzing.

"Sofia." Pope turns to her. "Come with us. If there's anything we need translated, it might be easier with you there."

"Sure." She smiles softly, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"Mission museum, first thing tomorrow," Cleo declares, clapping her hands together. The group murmurs in agreement before drifting off in different directions.

She stands to follow, but a hand catches her elbow—gently, hesitantly.

"Sof…"

She doesn't speak, but Sofia lets his hand linger on her elbow before his fingers slip away, falling limp at his side. She doesn't sit. Doesn't give him the satisfaction of thinking she'll stay, that his words will be enough. She knows she will, eventually—but he doesn't need to know that. Not yet.

Rafe exhales sharply, elbows resting on his knees, back bowed, shoulders sagging under the weight of whatever is eating him alive. He looks smaller than she's ever seen him. Rafe Cameron, who always walks like he owns the room, now sits before her like a man unraveling at the seams.

And for the first time, she wonders if that's all it ever was—a mask, a shield for the side of him that he never let anyone see.

"I'm not proud of… of that part of me." His head falls into his hands, fingers threading through his hair as he stares at the floor.

Sofia stays silent. Not out of cruelty but because she's afraid that if she speaks, she'll scare off whatever vulnerability he's choosing to give her.

"There's a lot…" He inhales sharply, his breath unsteady. "A lot that I struggled through. And a lot that I didn't handle… well." His jaw tightens like he's fighting against the memories clawing their way up. "I don't ever want to be back there again."

She crosses her arms over her chest, fingers pressing into her skin to keep herself grounded.

Rafe shakes his head, and something in his voice shifts—raw, almost desperate. "And I'm sorry… for not telling you. For letting you walk into this without knowing who I really was." His fingers flex against his knees like he's trying to physically hold onto his own frustration. "I should have—" He stops, his voice catching. He drags in another breath and steadies himself. "I should've told you. I should've been honest. You deserved that."

Sofia doesn't move.

"Instead, I let you believe in… in some version of me that didn't come with all this." His voice drops lower. "And that wasn't fair to you."

The silence that follows is thick, so Sofia studies him. The way his hands are curled into fists on his thighs. The way he won't quite meet her eyes. The way he sits, waiting—knowing whatever happens next isn't up to him.

She lifts her chin. "And what do you want from me, Rafe?"

His head snaps up.

She doesn't say it softly. Doesn't offer Rafe reassurance. Apologies are just words, and Rafe has always been good with words.

She wants to see if he understands that.

For a long moment, he doesn't say anything. Just holds her gaze. Then, slowly, something in his posture shifts.

He gets it.

Because he doesn't try to explain himself further. Doesn't try to pull her back in with promises.

He just nods.

And for once, Rafe Cameron lets her go.

And as she turns and leaves him behind on the couch, a small part of her feels a little lighter.

__________________

Next part: Chapter 19

[ren14554]

**Note: I am not sorry about the last chapter. It had to be done. But here's the next one so hopefully you at least like it.**

*Want to start from the beginning? Chapter 1

Eternal

Chapter 17: Mexico - Uxmal

Part of him would much rather be anywhere but here. Stuck in the back of the rental Jeep, smaller than their previous, squeezed in between the left side and Kiara, the one person he's probably ready to get away from the most. 

Out of some twisted sense of revenge, she single-handedly ruined his relationship. The one thing he finally felt was going right. And maybe a tiny part of him knows it's his fault. What he did. What he didn't say. How he tried his best to just sweep it all under the rug and never lift it ever again if he could. 

He deserves it.

But that doesn't mean he can't be entirely absolutely pissed about it. Fucking Kiara. 

She sits tensely next to him, coiling away as if he's going to wrap his hand around her neck. 

His fault. 

So, instead, he spends the drive staring out the window, contemplating where Sofia may be now. Driving to the airport. Getting on a plane. Getting as far away from him as she can. 

Good. 

Maybe it's better this way. 

He survived before her; he'll survive after her.

At least, that's what he tells himself to believe. 

~~~~~

They make it to the Uxmal in record time, the sun starting its long descent back towards the horizon, with at least another four, maybe five hours of light left. Enough time to look around and maybe find some answers.

Rafe trails a few yards behind the group as they navigate the ruins, keeping to himself. The Pyramid of the Magician looms over them, taller than the structures they'd explored back at Dzibilchaltún. Tourists are scattered across its steps, some climbing cautiously, others posing for photos.

His gaze flickers over an informational plaque near one of the pyramids, though the words barely register. Footsteps approach, and he knows it's Sarah before he even looks.

"You okay?" she asks, voice softer than usual.

He doesn't answer. Sarah should know the answer to that.

Sarah sighs but doesn't press. Instead, she gestures vaguely to the ruins. "Well, according to one of the tour guides, this isn't even all of it. Uxmal was just one piece of a much bigger civilization—miles and miles of temples and structures connected."

Rafe hums in response, uninterested.

Nearby, a group of tourists chatter amongst themselves, their voices carrying over the area. One of them, a middle-aged man in cargo shorts and a sunhat, seems particularly invested in the conversation.

"What happened to the rest of it?" the man asks, hands on his hips like he's expecting some grand revelation.

"Lost to time," another tourist answers vaguely.

A woman holding a worn travel guide and a flag indicating a tour chimes in, flipping through the pages. "Some say the jungle took it back, swallowing entire cities whole. There's a legend about a lost city out here—one even bigger than Uxmal, hidden deep in the rainforest."

"I read something about that," the man says, adjusting his sunglasses. "Some explorers went looking for it years ago—never found anything, though."

"Or at least, nothing they shared," the woman adds with a conspiratorial smirk.

John B, Kiara, and Pope exchange glances, their interest piqued. Pope pulls out a book, flipping through its pages with a newfound urgency. "They might be talking about one of the lost cities linked by sacbeob."

"Sacbeob?" Kiara asks before shaking her head with confusion. "Hold up— where did you get the book?"

Cleo sighs, "He ran off to the gift shop ten minutes ago."

"They were ancient roads," Pope ignores them, explaining away. "The Mayans built them to connect major cities. Some of them stretched for miles." He taps a page with a faded map sketch. "If there's something still out there, it won't be here—it'll be along one of those roads. Somewhere deeper in the rainforest that surrounds us."

Kiara exhales, already looking annoyed. "Great. Because the jungle is super small and easy to explore."

"I'm just saying," Pope mutters.

Rafe listens, but his focus keeps slipping.

He should care more. This is why they came here—to find answers, to figure out the next step. But all he can think about is Sofia. How she's not here. How she is supposed to be heading home. She's probably somewhere trying to decide if she ever wants to give him the time of day again.

He doesn't blame her if she never wants to.

~~~~~

They find themselves down an old dirt road just north of the Uxmal site, John B, directed from the driver’s seat by a hopeful Pope. Stepping out feels desolate, yet Uxmal is just a few minutes’ walk south of them.

"The map online says it should be about 30ish minutes. We have to cross a few small rivers and climb a hill, and it should be nestled on the other side before the thick of the rainforest." Pope rechecks the computer; the map he pulled up on the screen zeroed in on their current location, with a satellite-quality resolution of some ruins nestled up in the rainforest. 

“Do we have pictures of the map?" John B asks. "I’m pretty sure we lost the internet about ten minutes ago."

"I got it all on my phone," Pope gestures before closing the laptop and putting it in the back of the Jeep. 

They head out, Pope and Cleo taking up the front, leading them through the forest as it gets denser and muggier. Kiara keeps away from him, and John B and Sarah separate them wordlessly as Rafe takes up the rear. Happier than anything, he doesn't have eyes on him, more than content to mindlessly follow the pack. 

His head runs through the what-ifs, the jungle's distant ambiance keeping him company.

What if he would've just told her from the start?

She probably wouldn't have even wanted anything to do with him.

What if he told her a year in?

She probably would've still run for the hills.

What if he would've been more honest when he proposed?

She probably would've refused the ring and, in turn, him.

His past haunts him. 

Twenty minutes in, they finally come to a small, reasonably tame river, maybe about twenty feet wide. They carefully step on rocks jutting from the gentle surface, one after another, making it over without much issue. As Rafe makes it to the other bank, he goes for his back pocket, but it's empty. 

Fuck. 

His phone must've slipped out when he was squished into the back of the Jeep. Probably somewhere between the seat and the side of the Jeep. 

He internally kicks himself, but it's too late to go back for it, so all he's got is the murmurings of his sister's friends. What he would kill for Barry's easy-going company right about now.

The trees finally start thinning, the thick tangle of vines and branches giving way to something more open. Rafe pushes through the last bit of overgrowth, his sneakers hitting solid ground instead of dirt. It's stone. And not just a random slab—the entire area ahead looks carved, placed for a reason

Then, as they step forward, the jungle fully parts, revealing what lies beyond.

The city stretches out in front of them, half-consumed by the jungle. Crumbling structures, their edges softened by vines and moss, stand in eerie silence. Some are barely more than rubble, but others still hold their shape—stubborn, ancient. The whole place feels untouched as if they're the first to set foot here in centuries.

"Holy shit," John B mutters.

No one disagrees.

They make their way deeper into the clearing, the sun casting shadows from its place in the sky, tropical birds chirping in the distant forest, and the wind softly blowing across the structures.

"This is… insane," Kiara murmurs, trailing a hand along a wall, the stone rough and worn under her fingers.

"Unreal," Pope corrects, pulling out his phone and snapping quick pictures, as the thick canopy they had been under opens up, letting light into the vast open area.

They meander through the ruins, stepping over fallen stones and through narrow alleyways where walls lean too close together. The jungle still creeps in—roots split stone, vines weave through cracks—but the place holds.

As they make their way closer to the temple structure, long stone stairs surround the square pyramid-like structure, which is not as tall as the pyramid next to it but at least four stories tall, all the same.

They end up at the temple's base, stopping in front of what looks like an old stone pedestal, half-buried in moss and dirt. At first glance, it seems like just another piece of the ruins—until Pope brushes off the grime, revealing a circular stone wheel embedded in the structure. Around its edges, thick stone spokes jut out at uneven angles. "Okay… this is definitely some kind of puzzle."

"No kidding," John B mutters in astonishment.

Kiara steps closer, tracing one of the worn carvings. "But what do these symbols even mean?"

There are no clear instructions, no apparent pattern. Just scattered engravings—some of them recognizable, others faded beyond recognition. A jagged shape that might be a mountain. A spiral. A creature that could be a jaguar or maybe just a really messed-up dog.

"So what? We just spin it and hope we don't trigger some ancient booby trap?" Rafe says, crossing his arms.

Sarah shoots him a look. "We should probably try to figure it out first."

Pope steps back, scanning the area. "The Mayans didn't just put random symbols on things. They had meaning. These have to be clues."

They spread out, searching the ruins surrounding the temple for anything that could help.

Rafe finds a crumbling pillar, its surface covered in faded paintings. "Hey, this one's got some kinda story on it."

Pope jogs over, brushing off some of the moss. "Looks like… people gathering around a fire? No—wait. That's the sun. The sun was important to them."

Sarah calls out from a different spot. "This wall over here has carvings too! Some kind of animal?"

They gather around as she points to the jagged outline of a large cat, its fangs bared and claws extended.

"Jaguar," Cleo says. "They were sacred too?"

"Yep," Pope nods. "That's two. Sun and jaguar."

Kiara squints at another stone slab nearby. "This one's got, like, wavy lines? Maybe a river?"

Pope frowns. "Or it could be smoke. Or wind."

"Well, we're gonna have to guess eventually," John B says.

Pope takes a breath at the stone wheel and starts turning the spokes, aligning the symbols they've found. He places the jaguar first, next the sun, then what he assumes is the river. For the last one, he hesitates, then picks the spiral from the carvings.

The second he locks it into place, a resounding, metallic clunk echoes through the stone.

Then the ground shakes.

The wheel suddenly snaps back with a violent lurch, and dust sprays from the edges of the door. A grinding noise groans from deep inside the temple walls.

"Shit," Kiara hisses, stumbling back.

"Wrong order," Pope mutters.

"No kidding," Rafe snaps.

The rumbling slows, but the door stays shut. The symbols have reset, but nothing else seems to have happened. No traps. No arrows flying at their heads.

Sarah exhales. "So… we just try again?"

Pope nods, thinking. "Okay. We got three right. But that last one—the spiral—it's wrong."

"Maybe it's something else," Cleo suggests.

Rafe suddenly remembers another carving he'd seen—a stalk of something, its leaves reaching up. He jogs back toward the ruins, scanning the walls until he spots it again.

"Wait," he calls out. "This. Right here."

Pope rushes over. "That's… maize. Corn." His brain kicks into gear. "Shit. That makes sense. Maize was life for the Mayans. They literally worshipped it."

"When did you become such a Mayan expert?" Sarah looks on at Pope incredulously.

He goes to answer, but Cleo answers for him. 

"He was on his computer until about 2 am researching all he could."

Pope shrugs. "Gotta be prepared."

"Then let's try that," Kiara says with a shrug.

Back at the wheel, Pope resets the symbols. The jaguar first. Then sun. Then, the river. And finally, he lines up the maize.

For a second, nothing happens.

Then, the ground beneath them trembles, dust trickling from the seams in the stone as the massive doorway begins to shift up the staircase. A long, slow scraping noise fills the air as the entrance rolls back, disappearing into the wall. They all glance at each other before Pope starts up the staircase, the rest following. As they get to the entrance, a dark passage stretches beyond, cool air rushing out, stale with age.

Rafe exhales sharply. "That's not creepy at all."

"Well, no turning back now," Sarah says, stepping forward. The rest of them follow.

~~~~~

Down the narrow passageway, and a few twists and turns later, they find themselves at the top of a grand, uneven stone staircase leading down into a massive inner room, more prominent than one might expect from the outside. Rafe breathes out, earning an mmhm from his sister in agreement. Their eyes expand like saucers at the unbelievableness of it all. 

The large stone floor is broken, vines weaving through the cracks, attempting to slowly take over the space that has already gained centuries of ground.

They start down the steps, in awe.

The walls are covered in carvings, stretching twenty or thirty feet and nearly covering all surfaces. The pillars still hold up the inside, sturdy regardless of the weather or time. 

Some are faded, while others are still sharp, like time forgot about them. People are standing in circles, arms raised. Others are kneeling before something more significant. Gods? A king? Symbols are scattered throughout, some familiar from before and some completely new. His gaze catches on a section that looks different—more jagged and violent. Battles. Sacrifices.

"This is insane," Sarah breathes, tilting her flashlight up.

Pope moves closer to the carvings, eyes wide. "It's a meeting hall," he murmurs. "Or something close to it."

"They must've come here to decide shit," Kiara says, brushing dust from an engraving.

"Or plan wars," Cleo adds.

Rafe barely hears them. He steps further in, gaze dragging over every inch of the place. He doesn't know why, but something about it—it feels different. Not just old. Important.

His fingers twitch at his side.

"Guys, over here," Pope says suddenly.

Rafe turns and finds him near the far wall.

A map spanning feet into the air and the entire length of the wall. Worn from time but is still reasonably clear— in certain spots, at least. Kiara aims her phone's flashlight at it, Pope taking the opportunity to snap a few photos.

"What is it leading to?" John B squints up towards the top, a bit hard to see from their vantage point. "A waterfall?"

"Is that a waterfall? Maybe a river?" Sarah follows her boyfriend's lead. Rafe leans in, too, squinting up at the vertical waves. Rafe stares at it. Tries to piece it together. The symbols, the path, the destination. Whatever it is, it's not here. It's somewhere else.

A sound cuts through the space.

Footsteps.

Suddenly, the wall is bathed in a stark white light, almost blinding. Rafe and the others all turn abruptly, and a few figures bathed in darkness stand at the top near the passageway they came from. 

"Well, well, well." Groff's voice cuts through the interior, echoing off the old limestone. "Look who we have here."

Rafe's eyes adjust to the light and make out Chandler, Dalia, and a few of her mercenaries. While Groff looks amused, Dalia, on the other hand, looks indifferent and almost annoyed. 

"Knew you'd all pull through for me." Groff ambles slowly down the old crumbling stairs, Dalia and her men following suit until he reaches the stone floor. Rafe backs up with the Pogues, trying to put enough comfortable distance between them, but the inside of the temple doesn't lend much of it, regardless. 

"Groff." Kiara sneers confidently. 

"Not happy to see me? What a shame." The man boasts. Rafe has half a mind to lunge at the psychotic jackass if it weren't for the hand— Sarah's— currently warning him, grasping his forearm in protest of his vibrating want. 

"How did you find us?" John B questions. 

"Wouldn’t you like to know?" Groff boasts jovially. He turns back toward the far wall and directs one of the goons’ lights there, reflecting the wall in bright light.

"What do we have here?" They all glance at it, analyzing it. 

The map covered the stone wall, its carvings faded and worn from age. A twisting line ran through the center, looking like it marked a path, though it wasn't clear where it led. Strange symbols were scattered along the route—what looked to be trees, a spiral, and a rectangle—but their meaning was hard to guess. Near the end of the line, the carvings formed a rough shape, three squiggly lines clustered together up and down but too weathered to make out its meaning. Around the edges, small markings and patterns framed the map, symbols that once meant something to the creators.

Groff takes his time, letting his eyes drag over each of them, smug and unbothered, like he's already won. "I have to say, I'm impressed," he drawls, turning to one of his men. "Get pictures of this." A man lifts a camera, snapping shots of the carvings, the map, and the clue they uncovered.

Groff sighs dramatically and turns back to them. "I would say thank you for unearthing this, but then again, you did steal from me. It's only fair."

Kie suddenly surges forward, but Pope is ready, catching her before she can do something they'll all regret. She struggles against his hold, seething. "Fair?" She spits. "Fair? You fucking monster!" Her voice cracks with pure fury. "You should pay for what you did."

Groff exhales, already bored. "Girl, I've got no time to care about whatever you're on about."

Kie wrenches against Pope, fury in her eyes. "Your son! The one you murdered! For money!"

A muscle in Groff's jaw jumps, but his smirk stays firm. "Ah. Well, he was collateral damage. What can I say."

Sarah's breath shudders, her voice laced with disgust. "You're fucking sick."

"I may be." Groff shrugs. "But I do still sleep soundly through the night."

Rafe can feel the blood rushing in his ears, his fists clenching at his sides.

Groff shifts his attention to him, his smirk widening. "And you," he drawls. "Still trying to play hero? You're not built for that, Rafe. You're just like your old man—selfish, ruthless. The only difference is, he wouldn't be dumb enough to get himself killed over a lost cause."

Rafe doesn't think. Livid. His brain is a muddled mess of pure rage at the smug man, enticing them to react. Well, Groff got the one guy who is willing to.

He surges forward. Groff’s hand signals.

"Rafe, don't—" Sarah shouts.

Suddenly, shots ring out. They pelt the floor right by Rafe's feet. He leaps back on instinct. Arms wrap around his forearm and chest, Sarah and John B pulling him back towards the group's safety. Dalia yells for the men to stop, clearly angry that Groff overstepped his bounds. The goons readjust without as much of a concern. 

They're cold. Detached. 

"Pitty." Groff remarks. "Was hoping for a little bloodshed this evening."

Rafe's body vibrates with irritation. John B keeps him locked back with his arm around his chest, patting him angrily in understanding himself.

"Well, as enlightening as this has been, we must be off. Looks like we've got a new lead. Thank you for your assistance, but it will no longer be needed." Groff smirks before making his way back up the steps towards the temple's entrance. 

"Fuck you!" Kiara yells. Groff chuckles in return as Dalia follows suit, muttering under her breath towards her mercenaries. Two men with guns at the top of the staircase focus closely on the six of them as the others file out in a loose formation.

Once the men disappear up top, they finally regard one another, John B releasing him, but Sarah rests a calming hand on his shoulder, almost as if she's scared he'd get some big idea to bound up those steps and give Groff a piece of his mind. 

He's sure Kiara would be the first to join him. 

"We've got pictures too. Let's wait a minute for them to leave, and then we can return to the city. We can regroup back home."

Home. 

Their Airbnb away from their real home, that is.

Five minutes later, long enough for their liking, they bound up the steps, rushing back through the few turns in the long passageway before Cleo and Sarah come to a halt. The rest of them filing in close behind. 

Groff, Dalia, and two of her men holding guns stand outside, down the narrow passageway, on the other side of the doorway. 

Groff smirks. With arms crossed, Dalia looks exasperated but stands still next to Groff. 

"I wanted the last word."

Cleo scoffs, "You had that."

"I just wanted to express my appreciation for your efforts towards providing me with the way forward. In a weird way, I'll kind of miss you miscreants."

Miss them?

Groff signals behind his shoulder, and suddenly, a creaking sound, gears shaking the ground they stand on as the circular stone doorway starts to shift. 

"No!" John B yells, rushing down the narrow passageway towards the now-closing doorway.

"Be seeing you." Groff preens sickeningly. 

John B rushes quickly, but the doorway shuts into place just as he reaches it. His hands slam against the stone as Rafe and Pope join him. It doesn't budge. 

Silence. 

Cleo speaks. "What the hell do we do now?" 

"How the fuck did they find us?" Kiara scoffs, glancing around at each of them. Pope urgently shuffles around in his backpack, then stops, pulling something out.

"Uh, guys," Pope says, producing a small black box with a blinking red light. I think they put a tracker in my backpack."

"What?" Kiara turns on him.

"They must've done it when we made contact with them—"

Cleo responds sullenly, "Japan." When they fought off those two guys who tried taking Sof.

"Fuck." Rafe almost yells, his voice echoing in the old stone space, hands clutching the back of his neck in anger.

"Uh," Sarah speaks, "Are we sure there isn't another way?"

"It's sealed shut," Kiara states as Rafe pounds on the once-open doorway.

"Rafe," Sarah goes to stop him. "You're not helping."

"You're not doing anything?" He argues back quickly. His anger and slight desperation getting the better of him. 

"Us fighting isn't going to help." Sarah's voice is pointed; it's at him. He stops his banging and instead leans back against the once-open doorway, sliding down until his ass hits the cold stone. He rests his elbows over his knees. 

"There's gotta be a way out. In what world would ancient Mayans not have an escape route." Kiara urges. 

They split up, Rafe and John B trying to find anything that could potentially open the door while the girls and Pope head back into the temple in search of another way out. 

Thirty minutes later, they come back together, no closer to escaping than they had been before. 

"It's hopeless," Sarah remarks, sliding down the wall in the small entrance passageway. Her voice is downtrodden. John B goes to Sarah's side like the good boyfriend he is. Rafe leans back against the doorway, the cool stone seeping through his T-shirt.

~~~~~

Four or five hours after being stuck, or at least thirty minutes since the last time they had a flashlight before the last phone died, they all sit in relative, dark silence.

"I never thought I'd die in an old Mayan temple in the middle of Mexico," Sarah breaks it, "But I guess there's a first time for everything… or so they say."

"We're not gonna die." John B reassures, holding Sarah at his side protectively. 

Leaning against the wall across the way, Cleo scoffs, "Your positivity right now is exhausting."

Pope rests a comforting hand on her ankle from below. 

John B retorts, "What else are we supposed to be?"

The reality of the situation starts to sink in. Rafe and Pope attempt to move the stone door with strength and sheer will. It still doesn't budge. The girls go searching once more around the inside of the temple for any source of the outside world. They find none. John B, with a hunch that maybe they are actually in an Indian Jones movie, attempts to stick his hand in odd-looking holes in the wall, much to Sarah's chagrin and worry. No hands taken. No hidden triggers uncovered.

~~~~~

Rafe doesn't know how long he lies on his back, staring up at the cold grey stone ceiling, perhaps entombing them for the rest of time. 

So much he wishes he could do over. 

Sofia.

Home.

Things he wants to experience once more. 

A body lies down next to him, situating themselves comfortably. He glances over at his sister, casually leaning on her side, head on her elbow, staring at him with an untraceable look in the darkness.

"Hey."

"Hey."

Sarah sighs. "What are you thinking about?"

"A lot."

"I've been doing the same," Sarah states, "and you know the one thing that's been on my mind at least the last... I don't know… two hours."

"What?" he asks with a little bit of skepticism. 

"I've been racking my brain on how to separate the Rafe I grew up with and the Rafe from 3-4 years ago."

He glances over, startled.

"And I'll admit it is tough—"

He interrupts, "I'm sorry. There's a laundry list of things I could sit here and rattle off and say sorry for, but I probably either miss out on a few or go on forever, so… I'm sorry, and I wouldn't blame you if you never forgive me."

"I forgive you," she smiles softly, "And it's hard because... I forgive you, but I don't forgive what you did, and I don't know… that, I guess, doesn't make any sense, but to me, I guess it does, and I just… I forgive you."

"Don't do that just because we're lying here having a near-death heart-to-heart."

"Yeah, well, I have my own free will. And I can make that decision for myself, but I think if this is really real— the end— I should at least absolve you of your guilt. At least a little bit of it."

He chuckles slightly, "You're a pretty great sister… aside from Wheezie."

"God," Sarah sniffles jokingly, "you're gonna make me cry, Rafe."

He smirks softly, tilting his head towards his sister, "Don't waste your tears."

Sarah smiles, "On you, never—"

Suddenly, a shifting jolts them both into sitting, the rest of the Pogues startling as well.

__________________

She's doing the right thing. She's no longer needed to be frank, and she helped where she could. Her role in it all is finished. At least, that's what she keeps repeating to herself like a mantra as she watches the city go by, getting closer and closer to the airport.

Home.

Home. 

Why does she feel like she's leaving it rather than running toward it? She doesn't want to feel like she's leaving something behind. 

Someone. 

He lied about things that are important to tell someone, to warn someone about. Instead of being brave enough to tell her, someone else affected had to. 

How can she trust him?

The taxi suddenly stops, and the driver grumbles, "Nosotras estamos aqui."

She startles to move, "Gracias." She quickly grabs her things— not much— and exits.

The airport is bustling. Vacationers heading home or just arriving. Locals milling about picking up loved ones. She quickly makes her way through check-in and enters in line for security, feeling like she's floating. Empty. 

Sad.

He hurt Kiara and Pope.

Kiara is still hurt and Pope tolerable of Rafe. 

He hurt his own sister multiple times. 

Sarah still tries with him, seems to have started to let him back into her life.

He shot someone. 

But he said he was in a low place and thought he was protecting his dad.

"Señorita?" 

She startles as the security officer motions her next. She hesitates, then steps forward, holding out her ticket and passport, then suddenly retracting it. 

The officer furrows their brows as she backs away, stopping the line behind her, a few patrons cursing her under their breath or looking on in confusion. 

There's a pull. 

Turning, she walks around the large line and returns to the check-in area. Feeling utterly crazy.

She pulls out the brand-new phone, which was set up for her, from her back pocket. It was left in the envelope Rafe slid to her along with twenty-five hundred dollars. She opens the contacts, her finger hovering over Sarah's number, which she thinks Sarah herself must have entered, debating whether to text the woman or not. 

Fuck. 

Instead, she exits the airport, hails a taxi, and requests them to drive her back to the Airbnb.

~~~~~

It's quiet when she gets in; no sign of anyone, but they only left about four hours ago. She busies herself by tidying up the Airbnb's living room. It only takes her ten minutes. 

Her fingers hover over Rafe's contact, which was there when she opened the phone, probably on account of him thinking maybe she might need him. When she opens his location, it's smack dab in the middle of nowhere just north of Uxmal. 

She decides to take a walk around the neighborhood then, picking up elote at one of the local street vendors, who smiles at her kindly. It doesn't help that this growing sinking feeling starts to set in. She manages to dodge a few men on the street heckling. 

When she returns, the house is still empty. 

The sun starts its descent to the horizon.

She shoots Sarah a text. Checks Rafe's location. Same place, no movement. 

An hour and a half later, nothing. 

The house is illuminated only by the lamplight that Sofia has on. She rechecks Rafe's location.

Same place. 

The sinking feeling worsens so much that she starts to feel sick.

As the clock nears 9 pm, she finally decides to do something about it. 

She thinks she remembers seeing Pope toss the rental place's business card on the kitchen table. She finds it and quickly taps in the number.

"Hola." She says, thankfully, when a man answers.

"Hola." The man greets, then continues, “Estamos a punto de cerrar, así que sugiero que vuelvas a llamar en la mañana para cualquiera de tus—"

"Espera." Sofia implores, "Por favor. Necesito un alquiler esta noche—"

"Lo siento señorita. Vamos a cerrar en diez minutos..."

"Lo sé, pero—" She interrupts once more, "Por favor. Necesito desesperadamente alquilar un Jeep esta noche. Puedo conseguirte dinero en efectivo y puedo estar allí en quince minutos. Please."

There's silence and a sigh. "Fifteen minutes."

"Gracias, gracias," she breathes a sigh of relief, "Thank you."

She finds a ride-share and gets there in under twelve minutes with the prodding of her driver, who seems to get a thrill from getting to their destination as quickly as possible. She tips him well.

Luckily, the Jeep Sofia rents is only a couple hundred, and they let her peel out of there twenty minutes after they should've closed. 

Her anxiety continues to spike as her location spottily gets closer and closer to Rafes, eyes peering out into the night and headlights that pass her as she gets further out from the city and closer to the rainforest. 

An hour later, she nears Uxmal. The signs guide tourists and locals alike. One mile ahead. 

However, based on Rafe's location, he's not quite where Uxmal is. Instead, he's down a long, dark, desolate dirt road that her GPS tells her to turn onto. Her heartbeat spikes a little in the darkness as the headlights illuminate nothing but trees and dirt.

As her location converges on Rafes, she peers into the darkening night. When she is practically on top of his dot, she determines she’s… maybe… arrived. But there's still not much to see. The moon hides behind the tree line, but she can't deny that the night sky sparkles out here. 

Luckily, the glove box holds the flashlight she smartly grabbed from the Airbnb. Part of her wishes she would've packed more. If only Pope had been around. 

Hopping out of the Jeep, she clicks on the flashlight, which illuminates more of the surrounding area. She glances between her phone, which currently flirts with no connection and one bar, and the surrounding rainforest. Light suddenly glints from the distance. 

She shines the flashlight, and the light hits metal that reflects. 

A Jeep. 

As she nears, it sits lower to the ground, the light illuminating the tires slashed. Glass litters the ground around it, and each window is fractured haphazardly. Her feet crunch on the glass shards as she peers in worriedly, the inside trashed as if people were searching for something. A computer sits flickering in the back, close to dead and dim. She carefully steps up on the outside footstep and leans in, careful not to get cut, but snatches up the laptop. 

It's hanging on by wires. 

Carefully, she peers at the map, which shows a pretty straight trail north from her current location, crossing a few small rivers. She snaps a picture; the image is not the best, but it works. 

Of course, Pope was prepared for anything. 

She's grateful that somehow she kept on the right track, especially as her eyes continued to readjust as the night got darker. The flashlight lights up more than she anticipated, though the random noises of animals in the distance do nothing to settle her nerves. Being a lone woman walking through a dense forest on the verge of becoming a thick rainforest wasn't probably the brightest idea. She just hopes there is something… or someone to find. 

As she crests what she believes to be the last hill, the old ruins of a once ancient Mayan civilization comes into view. There's little detail in the darkness, but the flashlight highlights the relatively still intact city, stone and vines, and vegetation. Two pyramid-like structures crumbling away from millennia of existence in the distance. 

Her breath truly leaves her. 

There's a sense of awe at their presence, but she doesn't have time to admire it. There is still no sign of anyone, and her dread slowly continues to rise the longer she is alone.

Suddenly, a screech sounds almost too close for her liking. Her flashlight and body jump towards the denser jungle, waiting for something to come out. She stays frozen for a moment, the darkness and silence greeting her, giving her enough time to gain confidence and move again. Nothing seems too out of the ordinary as she aims the flashlight around, walking further into the long-abandoned settlement. As she makes her way through the ruins towards the temple structure, long stone stairs surround the square pyramid-like structure, not as tall as the Tomb next to it, and shoots up into the night sky all the same. 

An old stone pedestal sits at the base with a circular wheel embedded with thick stone spokes at uneven angles. Deep engravings mark the surface, some more worn than others—symbols scattered across the wheel. 

She sucks in a sharp breath.

It doesn't take long to notice the grooves don't quite line up. Someone has already tampered with it. Recently.

Sofia swallows, gripping one of the spokes, testing its resistance. It moves slightly. Another turns more freely.

She kneels, thinking. The Mayans didn't put things here randomly, or someone was playing a sick joke on her.

Jaguar. Sun. River… but what's the last one?

Her eyes flick over the engravings again.

Corn.

A memory tugs at the edges of her mind. When her teachers taught about the Mayans and their worship of a Corn God, the boys in her class thought it was the most hilarious thing they'd ever heard. She can admit she, too, laughed at the audacity of worshipping a Corn God.

But they did. It was everything to them.

Her gut tells her it's right.

She carefully adjusts the spokes, ensuring the jaguar, sun, and river are perfectly in place before moving the maize in position last.

A deep clunk reverberates through the stone.

The ground shifts beneath her feet.

Sofia stumbles back as a low rumble groans through the ruins, dust spilling from the edges of the temple. Her head snaps up just as the massive stone door—halfway up the staircase—begins moving.

It retracts into the wall.

__________________

Centuries-old gears shift and crank, groaning at the force as the stone door that rolled into place some time ago slowly rolls back out, moonlight bathing them slowly in shadow. 

None of them move for a moment, shocked at their sudden turn of luck. 

Rafe scrambles up, jogging through the opening with the rest, trying to shake off if this is just a hallucination provided by slowly going stir-crazy. 

But just as Rafe smiles with relief, he glances down the steps from the entrance where everyone else's eyes are trained, landing on their savior.

Sofia.

__________________

Next Part: Chapter 18

[ren14554]

Want to start from the beginning? Chapter 1

Eternal

Chapter 16: Mexico - Dzibilchaltún

They set out in the morning, weaving through the city streets toward the rental place Pope found. It's a small, no-frills office tucked between a café and a convenience store, the kind of place that doesn't ask too many questions… as long as you can pay.

Pope handles the paperwork while John B practically vibrates with excitement, already inspecting the lineup of vehicles like he's about to buy one instead of rent. "Tell me this isn't the best option," he says, patting the hood of a rugged-looking Jeep.

"You just want to drive like a lunatic," Sarah teases with a smile.

"And?"

Pope returns, keys in hand, shaking his head at how easy it was. "Man, they don't even care. Didn't check a damn thing. Asked me to sign the dotted line, got a picture of my license, and gave me the keys."

"Wouldn't fly back in the States," Cleo muses, sliding into the passenger seat as Pope takes up the driver. "Not that I'm complaining."

Sofia sits next to Rafe in the back, who slings an arm casually over the seat behind her. He's more at ease than last night—on the surface, at least. But there's something in the way his fingers drum restlessly against his knee, and his gaze lingers on the horizon like he's entirely elsewhere.

As they pull out of the lot, the city slowly fades into a blur of streets and low, worn homes. Thirty minutes later, the landscape shifts. The roads grow narrower, flanked by dense greenery. Small homesteads with weathered fences and laundry swaying on lines dot the city's outskirts, giving way to open fields and clusters of trees.

Then, finally, after a long, straight road and a couple of turns directed by Pope's GPS later, Dzibilchaltún emerges.

The temple sits in the distance, square and brown, its stone structure jutting into the perfectly blue sky. Clouds drift lazily overhead, casting slow-moving shadows over the ruins. The place feels... still. Ancient. Less like a grand tourist destination and more like a forgotten remnant of something far more significant.

They park near the trail entrance and step out, the humid air wrapping around them immediately.

Rafe stretches before resting his hands on his hips. "This it?" he asks, unimpressed. Sarah shoots her brother a playfully annoyed look. Rafe raises his brows with a smirk. 

"We don't exactly have a treasure map," Pope mutters, slamming the Jeep door shut. "Gotta start somewhere."

"Well," John B says, surveying the ruins, "let's see if we just wasted a drive."

The site isn't too dense as they wander between the sparse stone structures, analyzing the weathered surfaces for any blatant signs. The ruins stretch out in various directions—crumbling walls, low platforms, remnants of a once-thriving city. There are markers here and there and small plaques in Spanish and English detailing what once stood in each place.

"Not much to go on," Pope mutters, scanning the inscriptions. "I was hoping for, I don't know, some kind of hint."

"Some big neon sign with an arrow that says 'treasure here'?" Kiara smirks.

"I mean… yeah."

Sofia lets her fingers trail over one of the stone slabs, its carvings nearly eroded into obscurity. "I don't think the Mayans wanted to make it easy for grave robbers," she says wryly.

"You mean archaeologists," Rafe corrects, smirking slightly. "Respectable looters." A few of them chuckle in wordless agreement.

They walk on, meandering through the ruins, but Sofia can already feel it—nothing's here. Not really. At least nothing that would seem to lead them to the next step.

As they get further in, they reach water.

A massive, still pool stretches before them, an almost rugged circle carved into the limestone earth. The water is impossibly blue-green, the sky's reflection dancing across its surface. A few visitors stand at its edge, dipping their feet in, murmuring in various languages. A few more swim in the gentle waters.

"A pond." Sarah points out.

"A cenote," Sofia says, the word slipping from her effortlessly.

"A what?" John B asks.

"A cenote," she repeats, stepping closer. "It's a natural sinkhole. The Mayans believed they were sacred—portals to the underworld."

She has seen cenotes before, back when she was little. She can recall fleeting memories of cool water, limestone caves, and the echoes of her mother's voice telling her not to stray too far. Back then, they were just swimming holes, places to escape the heat. Now, standing at the edge as an adult, she understands why those places felt like something more.

Rafe crouches beside her, picking up a smooth rock and tossing it lightly between his hands before letting it drop into the water. The splash ripples outward, distorting the reflection. "So, what, human sacrifices and shit?"

She gives him a sidelong glance. "Sometimes." She's never really bought into it.

"Creepy," he mutters, watching the water settle.

"It's beautiful," she counters, crouching at the edge.

"Creepy can be beautiful," he muses, more to himself than anyone else.

They linger for a few minutes, some stepping closer, others staying back. The site is peaceful but not particularly helpful. No ancient doorways, no secret keys. Just history.

Nearby, a group of Japanese tourists gathers around their guide, who speaks animatedly in Japanese and English. Curiosity piqued, Kiara drifts a little closer, pretending to examine a nearby plaque. The guide gestures toward the ruins before saying, "Of course, Dzibilchaltún was a powerful city, but the real marvel was Uxmal."

That catches Sofia's attention. She glances at Rafe and Pope, who's already pulling out his phone.

"Uxmal?" John B asks, frowning. "Wasn't that—"

"The other city from the Museum," Cleo answers, "Yep."

Pope responds, tapping through search results. "But way bigger than this." He pauses, reading further. "And, according to this, it was supposedly a rival to Dzibilchaltún."

Sarah raises a brow. "So if these people built stone keys to open things, wouldn't their biggest competitor have some, too?"

Sofia straightens. The pieces are clicking into place.

"We need to go to Uxmal."

Rafe exhales sharply, rubbing his jaw. "Alright," he says, glancing at Pope. "How far?"

Pope rechecks his phone. "A little over an hour south."

Rafe clicks his tongue, rolling his shoulders. "Better than sitting around waiting for a sign from the gods."

John B claps his hands together, grinning. "Then what are we waiting for?"

Uxmal it is.

~~~~~

Cleo suddenly tenses as they enter the city, heading south towards Uxmal with Pope navigating via his phone.

"Pope," she states, her voice filled with suspicion.

"Yeah?" Pope answers, barely paying attention. He glances briefly at his girlfriend in the passenger seat before refocusing on the road and turning right toward their Airbnb.

"You see the car behind us?"

Pope frowns, checking the rearview mirror.

Sofia's stomach clenches. She glances over her shoulder with the others, her pulse quickening as she searches for the car. A black, sleek, too-perfect-to-be casual Escalade follows behind them a few hundred feet.

"What about it?" Pope asks.

Cleo shifts in her seat, her eyes locked onto the side mirror. "They've been following us for the last thirty minutes."

Pope's grip tightens on the wheel. "Coincidence?"

"No," Cleo says flatly. "They've made every turn we have for the past fifteen minutes."

Silence settles in the car.

"You think…" Kiara starts, her voice quiet as she turns to look again.

"I would say so," Sarah answers, unease clear in her tone.

"Shit," Pope mutters, his gaze flicking between the mirror and the road.

"Pull over," Rafe orders.

Pope's head snaps back toward him briefly, alarm evident. "What?"

"Pull over. Park the car," Rafe repeats, leaning forward between the front seats. He points ahead at a parking lot filled with cars.

"I can't park the car!" Pope argues.

"Then get back to the rental place. They know we're in this. We need to ditch it."

Pope hesitates, eyes darting to the rearview mirror. The Escalade is still there, shadowing their every move. He takes the roundabout—and the Escalade follows the same path without hesitation.

"We need to lose them," Rafe says again, his voice low. "We gotta go on foot."

Pope exhales sharply, then nods. He veers right, heading back toward the rental place. A few tense minutes later, he whips the Jeep into a spot toward the back of the lot. The Escalade idles on the street. Watching. Waiting.

"Move," Cleo says, already unbuckling.

They scramble out, huddling together for a brief second.

"We can't lead them back to the Airbnb," Cleo warns. "They'll jump us for sure."

"We split up," Rafe says. "Shake them the best you can, then get back to the house without being followed."

"We have no clue how many of them there are," John B observes. 

"They can't follow all of us," Rafe counters. He clasps Sofia's hand, already backing away. His grip is firm, leading, but there's an edge to it—like he's ready to let go at any second if he needs to fight.

"Wait," Pope interjects. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out the pieces of the artifact. Without a word, he slips one into Rafe's hand, which he tucks into his jeans pocket. Another goes to Sarah. The last two stay with Pope. A silent message: They can't have what they want if they don't have all the pieces.

"Stay safe, guys," Sarah says.

She and John B head off in one direction as Kiara clusters with Pope and Cleo. Rafe pulls Sofia in the opposite direction, deeper into the city.

For a while, it seems like they aren't the ones being followed. With each turn they take, no one lingers behind them. Sofia glances back more than once, just to be sure. Her heart doesn't slow a beat.

Then, just as she feels Rafe's grip on her hand relax, three men step out from an alleyway ahead.

Sofia stiffens as the men zero in on them.

Her fingers tighten around Rafe's instinctively, but he's rigid.

"Rafe," she warns, her voice barely above a whisper. But she already knows—he's not going to back down. He doesn't move. 

They're outnumbered.

The men start forward. Less than a block away, Pope, Cleo, and Kiara emerge from a side street, stopping short as they catch sight of the two strangers.

Then they see their hands.

Gun handles peek from their waists.

Rafe drops Sofia's hand and steps forward.

"Rafe," she breathes.

He reaches back. His shirt lifts, exposing the black grip of a gun tucked into his waistband. His fingers wrap around it. Sofia's heart rate soars and her breathing falters.

Kiara catches the movement, her eyes widening. "What the fuck, Rafe?" she hisses. "What are you doing with that?"

Pope's face goes pale. "Rafe, no."

Cleo grabs Pope's arm, tugging him a few steps back toward the alley. A flicker of unease crosses her face.

Sofia tries again, going for his waist as if she can pull him back. "Rafe, don't."

He shakes her off. How dare he shake her off…

A gunshot rings out, and they all flinch, ducking for cover.

Kiara grabs Sofia's hand, pulling her backward. Pope and Cleo dive behind a wall. Fear engulfs her every fiber, worrying about the others. About Rafe.

"Rafe, stop!" Sofia pleads as his hand tightens around the grip, and he holds it up.

Another shot cracks through the air. Another warning shot. Too close for any ounce of comfort.

The men don't stop. They keep coming, guns drawn. Locals scatter—seemingly as if this isn't their first time seeing something like this.

Kiara spins on Rafe, fury in her eyes. "Fuck you, Cameron!" She slaps his shoulder hard.

"Hey!"

A voice barks from the distance. A cop. His hand goes to his holster.

"Run!" Pope yells. He grabs Cleo's hand and bolts.

Sofia grips Kiara's hand, and Kiara grips hers right back as they go for a sprint, feet pounding against the pavement.

Behind them, Rafe hesitates only a second before tucking his gun away and taking off after them.

Shouts echo behind them as they weave through the narrow alleys, dodging between buildings. Sofia's legs burn as she keeps up with Kiara, only glancing back once to ensure Rafe is still following. He is.

The cop is slower—his breath heavy, his voice barking Spanish into his radio from afar.

They burst into a crowded square, drawing critical stares so much that she'd love to disappear under the scrutiny.

But Rafe's hands find Sofia's shoulders, pushing her forward into the throng of people. Reluctantly, the others follow.

They do their best to blend in, hearts hammering, lungs burning. Sofia wants to whirl on Rafe and ask him what the hell he's doing with a gun. What the fuck he was even thinking? But her fight or flight is kicking in, so she holds her tongue. 

When they're far enough into the crowd, no longer being stared at, they slow, attempting to disappear among the locals. No one follows. No more gunfire. No more shouting.

Kiara's body vibrates ahead with pure rage, and she doesn't look any bit over what just occurred. Not by a long shot.

~~~~~

Sarah and John B are sitting in the living room when Kiara slams the door open, seething angrily. 

Rafe walks in ahead of Sofia, frustration evident on his shoulders and his hands itching at his sides. His eyes hold a glint Sofia has only seen directed at Kooks who talked shit, those who’ve said nasty words about the late Ward Cameron. 

"What happened?" Sarah stands from her spot, worriedly taking in all of them. Pope is the last one to close the door, subtly shaking his head at John B and Sarah as Kiara breaks into a heated rant and points at Rafe.

"Your idiot brother thought it'd be smart to bring a gun out in broad daylight when we ran into Groff's men."

"What?" John B turns, eyes narrowing at the older Cameron.

"I had it under control."

"The police could've caught us." Cleo backs Kiara up. "What then, Cameron?"

"They fucking shot at us because of you." Kiara seethes further. "Someone could've gotten killed."

Rafe repeats once more, "I had it under control."

"We got into that mess because you only think about yourself." Rafe's smile never reaches his eyes, his head shaking.

"Kiara—"Sarah tries. 

"No," Kiara deflects. "Rafe decided not to think again, putting himself and us in danger that wasn't needed." She yells.

Sarah glances disappointedly between her best friend and her brother. 

"I'm tired of us playing like he's somehow turned a new leaf."

Sarah sighs in agreement but puts a comforting hand on Kiara's forearm. "Kie."

Sofia speaks up, "Can we all just calm down? It would be better for everyone if we took a breath. Rafe wasn't going to do anything—"

"Do you even know him?" Kiara almost laughs dryly.

Sofia startles, offended. "I do—"

"You were going to marry him?" Kiara scoffs, turning to place her attention on her. "Real great. You'd marry a killer."

Sofia stutters to a halt. Did Kiara just say,… killer?

She swallows hard. "What?"

"Sofia—" Rafe starts from across the room, his voice cautious, almost pleading.

Kiara cuts him off. "Sounds about right. Rafe doesn't like to soil his own name, but he's never shied away from throwing other people under any fucking bus he can find."

Rafe's voice rises sharply. "What the fuck, Kie?"

Kiara doesn't flinch. "Did he tell you he tried to choke me out once? Tried to choke Pope, too?"

Sofia's mind races, glancing briefly at Rafe, whose sharp glare is locked on Kiara.

"Or that he tried to drown Sarah? That he shot her?" Kiara presses, her tone biting.

"Kiara—" Sarah tries to intervene, her voice quiet but insistent.

Kiara ignores her and continues relentlessly. "Or that he killed Sheriff Peterkin."

Sofia can't find words. Her eyes dart around the room, searching for any sign that this might be a lie, a cruel joke. But the Pogues say nothing. Silent, still. Their expressions give away the terrible truth without speaking a word.

Her gaze lands on Rafe. He's seething, his fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tight. Rage flickers in his eyes, the same intensity she'd seen in moments he'd tried so hard to bury. The same Rafe she feared when he called her in August and tore her world apart.

"Kie." Sarah's voice is more urgent this time, trying to rein in the chaos.

But Kiara won't stop. "Rafe wasn't going to tell her. Someone had to."

Sofia stares at Rafe, willing him to look at her, defend himself, and say anything to make this make sense. But he doesn't. His gaze flickers everywhere but to her, as if avoiding her might somehow erase the weight of Kiara's words.

How could she be with someone capable of so much hatred, someone who had almost drowned his sister or tried to strangle a childhood friend? The rumors about the Camerons had always swirled back home, but after Ward was charged with Sheriff Peterkin's death, those whispers turned to cold, hard truths.

And now she knows.

It's too much. Sofia feels like she might break under the weight of it all, so she bolts, needing air, needing space, needing to think.

Out of the room, up the stairs, her feet carry her to the bedroom on autopilot. She's so close to the door when she hears the pounding of Rafe's footsteps behind her, his voice calling after her.

She doesn't stop. Doesn't want Rafe to follow. But he does anyway. 

Inside the room, she moves to the far wall, putting as much distance between them as possible as he closes the door behind him. Part of her wants to tell him to leave it open—just in case.

Rafe stares at her, his chest heaving like he's run a marathon. His eyes are wild, a mix of desperation and regret. They stand there, staring at each other, the silence heavy and suffocating.

"Tell me I'm dreaming," she finally whispers. "Tell me this is some kind of nightmare, and Kiara is wrong."

"I wasn't in my right mind then," he says quickly, a hand running through his short hair, his voice raw. "I was hurt and mad, and I was drinking—taking drugs to…. feel something."

"Drugs?" She scoffs, the word almost bitter on her tongue.

"I was addicted to cocaine," he confesses, his voice dropping. "I got high practically every night. I'm not proud of it, but I won't deny I had a problem. Had. I haven't touched it in two years."

Her chest tightens. "You never told me any of this," she says, her voice stronger now, tinged with anger. "You shot someone? Rafe, you killed someone?"

The words hang between them, heavy and unbearable.

"I didn't mean for it to happen like that," he whispers, his hands reaching out for her, taking a step closer. "I thought I was protecting my dad. He was at gunpoint, and I was going insane. I swear, Sofia, it wasn't supposed to—"

"You killed someone," she cuts him off, her voice shaking but firm. "They're dead. Do you even understand what that means? What kind of secret that is? And Kiara—Kiara had to tell me!"

He freezes, her words hitting him like a physical blow. His hands drop, and he looks like he might crumble for a moment. His jaw locks briefly.

"I've changed," he says adamantly. "I'm not that person anymore. Sofia, you know me. You know me."

She laughs bitterly, tears pooling in her eyes. "I thought I did. I thought I knew you. But this? This is…" She shakes her head, unable to finish the sentence.

He moves closer, his voice pleading. "Please Sof. Don't leave me."

His hands come up to cradle her face, his forehead pressing against hers. He's trembling, his breath uneven, but she doesn't feel comforted. She feels trapped. Suffocated.

"Rafe," she says, her voice low but steady. Tears gather in her eyes, blurring her vision.

“Sof,” he whispers again, his grip tightening as though he could physically hold her together and keep her from slipping away.

She pushes against his chest, forcing him to step back.

"Get out," she says, her voice rising.

His head shakes, panic flickering across his face. "Sofia, don't do this. Don't push me away. I've changed—"

"Get. Out."

The words are final.

Rafe falters, staring at her with wide eyes. He looks like he might argue, might beg her to reconsider, but something in her expression stops him. Slowly, his hands drop to his sides, and he steps back.

"Sofia—"

"Go."

The single word cuts through the air like a knife.

He swallows hard, his jaw tightening as he turns and walks out the door. The sound of it closing behind him is deafening.

The moment he's gone, Sofia collapses to the floor, tears spilling over as the weight of everything crashes down around her. The silence is unbearable, but it's all she has for now.

~~~~~

She stares at the ceiling. So incredibly lost. 

How daft she was to believe everyone's whispering was unwarranted.

They just needed a common enemy and decided on the son of the wealthiest men on the island—the son of Ward Cameron, who fessed up to shooting Sheriff Peterkin.

But no. It wasn't Ward who pulled the trigger. It was Rafe.

The man she trusted. The man she thought she knew.

He killed someone.

He hurt his sister.

He hurt Kie, Pope, and the rest of them.

A monster lurking beneath the facade of the man who had stolen her heart.

His outbursts, his anger after finding out about her dealings with Hollis and, by extension, Groff—it all makes much more sense now. She used to think it was just his temper, his frustration over their circumstances. But now, it feels darker. Deeper.

And to think she had spent all this time consumed by guilt for convincing him to sign the deal, believing she was the one who had wronged him most.

He shot someone.

The weight of it presses down on her chest, leaving her gasping for air in the stillness of the room.

She barely gets any sleep.

When the sun starts to rise, she's still wide awake. She's running on fumes, maybe two hours of restless sleep at best, but her mind won't stop racing.

For one brief, cruel moment, she hoped it was all a bad dream. She reaches across the bed, testing the space beside her. It's cold and empty.

And just like that, the truth slams into her all over again.

He's gone.

She closes her eyes, trying to block it all out, but it's useless. The revelations from the night before swirl in her mind, relentless.

The most terrible part of it all? She still wants to run to Rafe.

Even now, she craves the comfort he used to give her. She wants him to hold her, to tell her everything will be okay. She wants to bury herself in his arms and pretend he's the man she thought he was—the man she fell in love with.

But how can she?

How can she reconcile the Rafe she loves with the man who sounds as vile and dangerous as Groff?

The guy who wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. The guy who longed to reconnect with his sister. The one who came for her, saved her from Groff. How can she rectify that?

Maybe she can't. Perhaps she never will. 

~~~~~

"Sofia." Pope blanches as she comes around the corner and enters the small kitchen. Rafe glances up at her in the corner of her eye, but she doesn't glance over, instead keeping her gaze on everyone. 

"Morning." Sarah starts, "How'd you sleep?"

It feels weird for everyone to know… for them all to know that she didn't, and now she does. It's as if they're still waiting for her to react in some outburst or something. But she just feels numb.

"I didn't." She admits. "I think… I think my time is up here."

Rafe bristles.

The rest of them regard her with empathy… or pity. She doesn't really know anymore.

"You're more than welcome—" She interrupts John B's placating.

"I'm gonna head home. You've got all the pieces. My use here is no longer really needed, and honestly, this isn't my fight." Sofia nods with finality. "There's a cab coming in a bit, and my flight leaves later this afternoon."

"Are you sure?" Cleo asks with a raised brow.

She nods with pressed lips. If she says anything more in Rafe's presence, she can't say she won't start to cry.

"We'll miss you." Sarah smiles kindly. She appreciates it but knows they won't miss her that much. They've been a group of apparent treasure hunters for a while now together, and her job of getting them into the boxes is done. It's time for her to exit while she still can.

While she starts making breakfast for herself, they finish theirs, packing up their various personal items and Pope's computer, Rafe in her periphery the entire time. He keeps glancing over as if hoping she changes her mind. She hasn't.

When they're ready to leave, they all say their farewells: Cleo's shoulder squeeze, Pope's smile and goodbye, Kiara's look of pity, and a little regret, but she nods her goodbye anyway. Sofia sends her the bravest subtle smile she can. Kiara returns it in kind, then flows out the door with Cleo and Pope. John B goes with them, speaking out a "See you in Kildare, Sof," that makes her crack a smile, thankful for the kindness the Pouges have shown her.

Sarah stops long enough to hug her goodbye, an apology in her eyes that Sofia brushes off. 

Rafe lingers, only coming up to her after Sarah shoots him a warning.

The small, rickety metal island separates them. She keeps her eyes trained on her Choco Krispies, hoping he leaves and that he doesn't try to make her feel anything other than the disgust that's entered her view of him.

"I love you." He stares straight at her. She swallows. He pushes an envelope across the metal surface. She stares at it as he leaves. The tears streak down her flushed cheek.

__________________

Next part: Chapter 17

[ren14554]

Want to start from the beginning? Chapter 1

Eternal

Chapter 15: Mexico

Sofia's memories of her early years are wrapped in the heat and colors of Mexico. Southern Mexico is a quieter part of the country, a little inland from the coast, where the land rolls with thick greenery, and the air always holds the scent of warm earth and fresh rainfall. The days are long, the sun fierce, and the nights cooled by the soft breeze of the Gulf of Mexico in the distance. 

She remembers the sound of cicadas in the afternoon, the hustle of small markets where fruit vendors shouted out prices, and the calm hum of the family home tucked away in a tight-knit community where everyone knew each other's business. It was a world far removed from the chaos of the Outer Banks, but it shaped her in ways she couldn't fully understand when her parents moved her to the States.

Mérida, Mexico.

"So this place will hopefully point us in… a direction?" Kiara states as they stare up at the entrance to the local Museum that Cleo was able to find in southern Mexico, the Yucatán peninsula, to be exact. Gran Museo del Mundo Maya de Mérida. They boast a one-stop shop for all things Mayan culture and history. 

One of many.

As they enter, signs point in various directions, guiding visitors to different historical periods of the Mayan culture. The lobby spans at least three stories. A large stone sculpture of a figure in an intricately carved mask sits with legs crossed, encased in a glass box just as tall. The air inside the museum is cool, a sharp contrast to the humid heat outside.

They move deeper into the exhibit, each meandering to different installments and sculptures. There's a silent understanding among them: they know what they want to find but aren't sure what exactly they're looking for.

Sofia grips Rafe's hand as she slowly peeks at each item, reading every plaque in Spanish and English and taking in each statue protected behind a pane of glass.

"So, divide and conquer?" Cleo suggests, shifting her weight as she glances between the group.

Pope shrugs. "I don't know. I'd be interested in reading up a bit on the culture…" He glances around at their various smiles, some amused, some understanding.

"Okay, nerd," John B teases with the utmost affection in his tone. Pope playfully narrows his eyes at his best friend before laughing lightly along with the rest of them.

They decide not to split up, moving as a group into the first exhibit, which immediately dives into a brief history of the Mayans and their lives in 600 AD. As they slowly wander through, stopping at various points to comment or, in John B's case, crack a joke—some funnier than others—they spend way more time than they initially intended.

About twenty minutes in, they reach the next exhibit, the art and culture of the Mayan people.

It's probably Sofia's favorite part by far. The tapestries depict long-forgotten maps with sculptures littered about, plaques describing how Mayans would create art for the sake of expression. Not too dissimilar from the great artists all throughout history.

It isn't until they get deeper into the exhibit that they finally hit the jackpot.

"Does this look…" Sarah trails off as Sofia and Rafe meander over. They both stop to analyze the case, an intact circular stone artifact strikingly similar to the one currently housed in Pope's backpack. The swirling glyphs look like they were copied and pasted onto theirs.

"Yeah," Rafe responds. "That's gotta be what we have."

They each skim the wall, reading the description of its conception, significance, and impact on Mayan culture as a whole and, in turn, Mexican culture centuries later.

Two bolded words stick out from the stark paragraphs of explanation: Dzibilchaltún and Uxmal.

"Guys," Sarah calls out to the others, who are currently analyzing the direction of a trail map on a hanging tapestry on the other side of the room.

The four others crowd around them, sneaking glances around once they clue into the striking similarity.

"Replica of various stone keys the Mayan people used to open passages…" Kiara reads from the placard. "Shit. Stone key."

"So… what we have is supposed to open something? Like, leading to treasure or something?" Sofia muses aloud, more to herself than anyone else, searching for confirmation.

"If it does, we still have no idea what exactly," Pope replies. "And we should probably figure that out before we go about messing with random ancient doors."

"Treasures," Kiara chimes in absentmindedly, still scanning the plaque in front of her.

"Super helpful, Kie," Pope deadpans. She just shrugs.

"So we have a key, potentially," Sarah states. "We have no clue what it opens, how it opens it, or what is behind it."

"And no clue where either," Rafe adds gruffly.

Sarah nods. "So what about this…" She squints at the text, "Diz-bil-chalton—"

"Dzee-beel-chahl-toon," Sofia corrects, almost butchering it herself. Her Spanish comes in a bit handier than she genuinely anticipated.

"That." Sarah smiles gratefully. The younger Cameron glances back and reads, "One of many Mayan civilizations which produced these stone keys… maybe it will hold more answers."

"Maybe," John B doesn't sound too convinced, trying to get closer to the intact artifact as if something would jump out to him. "There are like five other civilizations they mention, too. This Dzee-beel…"

“Dzee-beel—” Sofia corrects.

“Dzee-beel-call-toon…” John B doesn't sound too confident. "We could be wasting our time. Little, precious time."

"You know something we don't?" Rafe asks, brow raised.

John B shakes his head. "I'm just saying, Groff and his people found us twice now. Both times, we didn't think we were being followed. We don't have much room for wild goose chases."

"Let's try it," Kiara suggests. "Doesn't hurt."

"What hurts is that this place we want to go is thirty to forty minutes north," Cleo states, glancing at her phone with Pope.

They linger in the museum a little longer, each taking turns rereading the description of the artifact as if staring at the swirling glyphs long enough might reveal their hidden meaning. But the realization settles in as the minutes tick by—they've hit another dead end.

Pope sighs, rubbing his forehead. "We have a direction but not much else."

John B steps back, glancing around the quiet exhibit hall. "Then maybe it's time to regroup, grab some food, and figure out our next move."

"Agreed," Rafe says, adjusting his grip on Sofia's hand.

As they make their way back through the museum, they pass through the gift shop, where Sarah pauses at a rack of handmade woven bracelets. "Hold on, these are kinda cute," she says, looping one around her wrist.

Sofia chuckles. "We're supposed to be solving a mystery, and you're shopping for accessories?"

"Multitasking," Sarah quips, grabbing another bracelet and tossing it to Sofia. "This one suits you."

Sofia rolls her eyes but slips it on anyway. The simple woven threads settle against her wrist as they finally exit into the warm afternoon air.

Outside, Rafe pulls out his phone, scanning the screen briefly before stuffing it back into his pocket. "There's a spot a few blocks away. Local place. Should be good."

"Perfect, I'm starving," Cleo says, already leading the way.

As they walk, Rafe slows his pace, letting the others move ahead while he keeps Sofia close. His fingers tighten around hers before he leans in, voice low. "I'll catch up in a few," he murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to her temple.

She stops mid-step, brow furrowing. "Where are you going?"

"Just need to check on something. Won't be long," Rafe assures her, flashing a quick smile before slipping into the crowd and disappearing down a side street.

Sofia watches him go, unease curling in her stomach. A dozen possibilities flicker through her mind, but before she can dwell too much, Sarah is already pulling her into conversation, and the moment slips away—for now.

~~~~~

"We can leave first thing in the morning."

Pope produces a flyer and a business card from his pocket, laying them out on the table like evidence in a case.

"I grabbed this from an info booth at the museum," he explains. "They rent cars—figured it might be useful if we want to get to the archaeological site." 

"What do they have?" John B asks, leaning forward.

"Plenty," Pope says, flipping the flyer around to show him. "I was thinking of getting a Jeep. They have ones that seat seven."

"Well, isn't that just perfect?" Kiara quips, smirking over the rim of her drink.

Pope continues with a bit of glee, “And somehow, I convinced Rafe to let me use the card to get a computer. Think it’ll come in handy with research.”

Cleo smiles with a raised brow, “And where are you gonna get the internet for that?”

“I’ve got a hotspot.” Pope smiles back. 

Scrolling through her phone, Sarah adds, "They have a church at the site. A—" She squints at the screen, "16th-century colonial open-air church." She looks up, locking eyes with John B across the table. "Maybe we could finally get married at a church."

John B shakes his head with a laugh as the rest of them chuckle at the familiar joke.

Sofia, without thinking, adds playfully, "Two Camerons could finally get hitched."

Sarah's laughter falters. "Two?"

The table falls into a sudden, heavy silence, eyes darting toward Sofia. Her stomach knots as she realizes what she's unintentionally let slip. "It was just a joke," she backtracks quickly, but the damage is done.

"Rafe getting married would be a real sight to see." Kiara jokes without mirth. Sofia squirms at the scrutiny, regretting ever adding anything to the conversation.

Sarah continues to analyze her, though, realization dawning on the Cameron sibling. 

Sarah's gaze sharpens. "He proposed?"

Every head swivels toward Sofia. The weight of their collective curiosity presses down on her, and she fights the instinct to shrink under it.

"He did." Her voice is steady, even as her pulse thrums in her ears.

Kiara narrows her eyes but says nothing, her gaze bouncing between Sofia and Sarah. 

"With our mom's ring?" Sarah asks, her voice quieter now, less accusation, more realization.

Sofia exhales through her nose. "Yeah."

Sarah nods slowly, and for a split second, Sofia catches something in her expression—something almost like understanding. But it's gone before she can be sure.

“Wow,” John B mutters. "That was the last thing I would've guessed, but hey." He claps his hands together, breaking the tension. "Stranger things have happened."

"Where is Rafe, by the way?" Cleo asks.

"He said he needed to go check on something, right Sofia? "Pope answers as he continues to analyze the rental pamphlet.

Kiara scoffs under her breath. "Probably out trying to sell us out."

Sofia's head snaps toward her, brows furrowed, but Sarah steps in before she can say anything. "Kiara, stop."

Sofia knows better than anyone how fractured Rafe and Sarah's relationship is. Their father is a significant catalyst for their differing opinions on life. He never delved deep into the rift but had feelings about it. Her encouragement for him to reach out always seems to fall on deaf ears, so honestly, she was pretty surprised when he went off after Groff with her. 

But even with that rift, Rafe was here. Fighting alongside them. For him to betray them? Never.

Never.

"There he is." John B nods toward the entrance.

Rafe strides through the restaurant, maneuvering past tables, his expression unreadable. There's something tight in his posture, something restrained. Just as Sofia picks up on it, his face smooths over—calm, collected, like nothing is out of place.

He slides into the seat beside her, nodding his hello.

"Everything okay?" Sofia asks under her breath.

Rafe nods immediately, the movement a little too sharp, a little too practiced. "Perfect."

She doesn't believe him. Not entirely. But she trusts him.

She returns to the conversation, the group discussing Pope's plan. But across the table, Kiara is watching her. Not openly, not obviously, but Sofia catches the way her gaze lingers. The polite smile Kiara flashes at her is quick and forced, never reaching her eyes before she turns back to the conversation.

Something unsettles deep in Sofia's gut.

~~~~~

The dim glow of the bedside lamp casts shadows across the room. Sofia shifts beneath the covers, eyes heavy but still awake. She grazes her slowly healing wound, newly dressed.

Across the room, Rafe stands near his clothes, half-dressed, his bare back tense under the low light. He moves deliberately, pushing something under a few shirts he's picked up along the way before tucking it into the backpack he bought on their way to Argentina.

Sofia watches him for a moment before speaking. "Everything okay?" Her voice is soft, careful. Maybe this time, he'll tell her what's on his mind.

But he doesn't.

Rafe glances at her, his expression unreadable. Slowly, he makes his way back over, leaning over to click off the lamp.

"Yeah," he says, crawling into bed beside her. "Go to sleep."

__________________

Next part: Chapter 16

[ren14554]

Eternal

*so I wanted to post the next chapter because the other day I created a Pinterest collage that kinda encompassed the vibe.

[ren14554]

Want to start from the beginning? Chapter 1

Eternal

Chapter 14: Argentina

They touch down in Argentina in the evening, exhausted and running on fumes. A moderately priced Airbnb goes on the now increasingly heavy Cameron Development platinum card. Each time Rafe hands it over, his frustration deepens, annoyance flickering behind his eyes—but he makes no biting remarks.

Filled with hunger, they stumble into a late-night hole-in-the-wall restaurant, the kind that looks questionable from the outside but turns out to be a hidden gem. The food is incredible—flaky, golden empanadas and perfectly seasoned meats. Sofia converses easily with the staff, her Spanish earning them extra cartons of food, which they scarf down in a deliriously hazy state.

The following day, they head straight to the bank as indicated, in the middle of the city already bursting to life as people go about their days as usual… no sign of Groff or any of his mercenaries. The absence is unsettling.

“Anyone else thinks it’s weird that we haven’t seen Dalia’s men since landing? No Groff. Nothing.” Kiara questions as they approach the entrance.

“I am a little surprised,” Pope admits, eyes scanning their surroundings. “They’ve been everywhere else.”

Sofia remains on edge but keeps her expression neutral as she strides up to the teller’s counter. The routine is second nature by now.

“Quisiera acceder a mi caja de seguridad,” she states confidently, sliding her ID across the counter.

The teller, Marcos, nods and begins typing. “Perfecto. Déjame avisar al gerente. Él finalizará el proceso necesario y luego lo guiará de regreso.”

John B and Rafe stand on either side of her, watchful and tense, waiting for the manager to perform the usual checks. The bank manager confirms the paperwork, and signatures are exchanged, and soon, they’re being led into the vault.

It’s almost too easy.

The safety deposit box. The artifact. In and out in ten minutes. No texts from Sarah or Cleo warning them to be cautious. No sudden ambush. When they exit the bank, John B actually skips. Sofia doesn’t blame him. Relief washes over her, too.

A few minutes later, they regroup by the Río Dique, the canal near the bay.

Sofia pulls the stone piece from her pocket and hands it to Sarah, who immediately examines it. “That makes four. The first two boxes being empty still doesn’t sit right with me.”

Kiara narrows her eyes. “Wonder why Hollis left only four boxes with anything useful?” Her gaze slides to Sofia with a quiet expectation.

Sofia exhales, shoving her hands into her jean shorts. “Only Hollis would know.”

Kiara doesn’t back down. “You wouldn’t?”

Rafe warns. “Kie.” He takes the piece from Sarah and slips it into his back pocket.

Sofia meets Kiara’s gaze. “Why would I?”

Kiara tilts her head. “What is Hollis Robinson doing leaving her wild goose chase—something Groff clearly wants with a burning passion—to you?”

“I have no clue,” Sofia admits.

Cleo chimes in, “She did write you a personal note.”

Sofia shifts uncomfortably. “A typewritten letter. With an ink-stamped signature. Personal?”

“She clearly felt something akin to you, and you were her choice,” Kiara presses.

Sofia takes a step back, arms crossed. “She may have been from the Cut, but that’s where our similarities end. The second I saw her name, I stopped caring and threw the letter away.”

Kiara studies her. “Not even a little curious?”

“Not even a little.” The sudden scrutiny frustrates her. “I thought, after everything, you’d trust me.”

Sarah steps in, “Sofia, we do.”

Sofia levels her with a look. Do you?

Kiara exhales. “Look, I’m not accusing you of anything. I just don’t get why Hollis chose you.”

Sofia glances at Rafe. “Maybe it was more about who I was connected to than who I am.”

Cleo’s gaze flicks to Rafe, obvious distaste written on her face. He rolls his eyes.

John B claps his hands together. “We have the pieces, right? Let’s just focus on that?”

Everyone murmurs in agreement.

“Well, as fun as this has been, I’m starving,” Sarah announces. “So many scents are invading my senses, and I must consume them before I get hangry.”

Kiara scoffs playfully. “All you do is eat these days.” She shakes her head jokingly.

“Growing this one’s kid,” Sarah claps her hands on John B’s shoulders as he gives a light eye roll, “kinda fucks with your appetite, I swear.”

“We can grab food, and then I say we go back to the Airbnb. We can finally see what this goose chase has been all about,” Pope states.

Rafe speaks up. “Anyone else weirded out that we haven’t run into Groff’s people yet? Not at the bank, not anywhere outside?”

Cleo nods. “I swear my head’s been on a swivel just waiting for someone to pop out.”

“Maybe they’re just that good,” Sarah suggests. “We don’t recognize them; they’ve been watching us this whole time.”

“But we have the pieces. Why not come out of the woodwork?” Cleo counters and Kiara nods in agreement.

“Don’t we want them not to be following us?” Sofia adds. “I mean, as much as I surely miss the rants and ravings of Chandler Groff, I’m much happier with him being nowhere near.”

“I, for one, totally agree,” John B says, clapping a quick, solidary hand to her shoulder before intertwining his fingers with Sarah’s. “Let’s stick to the plan. Food. Then back to the lodging. I’d like to get a good look at this artifact and finally find out what’s so important about it.”

__________________

The evening air is breezy, the soft wind rustling the few trees scattered around the smaller, fenced-in backyard of the Airbnb. Pope sits in the middle of the picnic table bench, Kiara perched next to him on one side and Cleo on the other, leaning back on her elbows against the table. John B takes a swig of his beer, sitting atop the table at the far end, Sarah propping herself against his legs, her head resting curiously on her arms.

Pope manages to fish out the three pieces from his backpack, laying them gently on the table. 

Rafe takes a swig of his beer and straddles the opposite end of the bench across the table from Cleo, with Sofia seated between him and Sarah.

Her left leg is curled under her, and her knee lightly grazes against his under the table. While the rest of them watch Pope closely, Rafe inches a gentle hand to her knee, caressing it softly. She gives him a quick glance—a soft smile, eyes starting to glow under the lantern light as dusk settles in.

Pope breaks him from his reprieve.

“The piece?” Pope asks expectantly.

Rafe glances at the awaiting hand, then back up at Pope. With a non-serious eye roll, he slips the piece from his back pocket, where he’d placed it for safekeeping, and hands it over. Pope shuffles the four quadrants together until they fit, the points meeting in the middle. A sense of hopefulness grows at finally understanding what this has all been about.

Or not.

“It’s definitely gotta be Aztec,” Pope comments as the group crowds closer around the table. He shifts the artifact gently, revealing a small carving of a temple at its center, encircled by intricate shapes and squiggles.

“Are you saying this thing is, like, old old?” Kiara asks. “Like, start-of-civilization old?”

“Well…” Pope hedges. “I don’t know.”

They all hold a collective breath as he carefully turns the piece over, keeping the four fragments intact. The other side reveals a mask at the center, surrounded by almost incomprehensible words and symbols.

Sofia corrects, “It’s Mayan.”

Numerous eyes zero in on her. She shifts slightly, uncomfortable. Rafe rests his hand back on her knee, rubbing his thumb over the soft skin. She takes a short breath before continuing, instinctively tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“It almost looks like a Mayan calendar, but it definitely wasn’t made with the intent to tell time.”

John B prods, “How can you tell?”

“Short version,” Sofia says, as Rafe takes another swig of beer, “Mayans tended to decorate and create based on more realistic images and figures. The mask isn’t a typical choice for Aztec art. If there were an animal of some kind or more symbols covering both the front and back, then sure.”

Sarah smiles. “Where’s you become an ancient civilization history expert?”

Sofia shrugs. “Elementary school history. Kids in Mexico get the whole Aztec and Mayan history dump.”

She’d told him before about the short time she lived in Mexico City, how her parents moved her and her younger siblings to The Cut in fourth grade after her dad got a lucrative job offer from her uncle.

“So this thing has gotta be, like… thousands of years old,” Sarah says in awe.

Kiara, however, questions, “If this really is something from way, way… way back when, what the hell does Groff want with it?”

“Gold?” Sarah offers.

“Something that would make him even richer than selling the Crown,” John B adds. “What’s the point of successfully selling that just to chase loose threads with this thing?”

Cleo scoffs. “The man’s insatiable.”

“Well, he’s obviously hell-bent on getting it,” Kiara says, her voice breaking terribly. “He willingly… murdered… JJ for the Crown. I can only imagine what he will do for whatever this could bring.”

“I fear that man will never be satisfied,” John B states, leaning forward to rest a gentle hand on Kiara’s forearm. “Kie.”

Kiara shakes her head angrily, tears brimming in her eyes. “We rip whatever this is out from under him. For JJ.”

“Always,” Sarah says, covering Kiara’s hand in solidarity.

Rafe almost hates to ruin the moment—almost. “As sweet as this all is—” Kiara and Sarah both glare at him briefly, “What the hell does this thing even mean? Why do we need it? Why hide the pieces?”

“All great questions,” Pope answers. “All of which I have no clue.” He sighs.

“Can I?” Sofia asks. Pope nods and carefully slides it over to her. She gently turns it over, peering down at it.

“I think it says… something about life.” She bites her lip momentarily before continuing, “Or maybe death. The language is too worn.”

“Life,” Pope answers back with an air of positivity.

“Or death,” Cleo counters, raising a brow. Pope glances at her with playful exasperation.

“Maybe we could find something online about it,” John B suggests. “Might be impossible, but not improbable.”

“‘Old ancient stone disk mentioning either life… or death,’” Sarah quips. “Yeah, gonna have an easy time with that.”

Rafe regards his girlfriend. “Where to?”

“What?”

“As our apparent ancient civilizations expert, where can we learn more?”

Sofia runs her tongue along her top teeth, thinking. “Well, the Mayans lived across the Yucatán Peninsula and southern Mexico. There’s gotta be a museum or two in the region.”

And just like that, they’ll soon be off on another plane, traveling to another country, chasing ancient history.

Rafe smirks slightly as he watches Sofia explain some of the Mayan history she remembers to his sister. He can’t deny—despite everything—that this excites him just a little. The original goal of getting his money back is starting to take a backseat.

Feels like just about nothing could ruin this.

__________________

Next part: Chapter 15

[ren14554]

*Want to start from the beginning? Chapter 1

Eternal

Chapter 13: Japan

"Morning." Sofia's soft voice greets him as he blinks his eyes open, the grogginess of sleep still weighing heavily on him. He'd finally managed to fall asleep in the early morning hours, the jet lag and time difference wreaking havoc on his internal clock.

She's watching him, smiling lazily as he glances around, getting his bearings. The muted morning light filters through the thin hotel curtains, casting a soft glow over everything.

Sofia's presence draws his attention back. She's sprawled across the pillow beside him, her hair a tousled wave of dark strands. She's swathed in his sweatshirt and the hotel's crisp white sheets, looking every bit the picture of calm.

"Where's Sarah?" He mumbles, his voice still heavy from sleep.

"She and John B went down for the free breakfast. Kiara grabbed them about ten minutes ago."

"Great," he mutters, shutting his eyes again. He shifts against the pillow, getting comfortable. "It'll be quiet."

For a few moments, there's only the sound of his measured breathing, the faint hum of the hotel's air conditioning filling the space. Then, something featherlight tickles his cheek. He cracks an eye open.

Sofia's fingers trace soft patterns across his face, aimless and delicate. He gently lifts a hand, grasping her wrist before bringing her palm to his lips. He presses a slow kiss there before pulling her arm behind him, playfully snuggling into her warmth. She giggles.

"You need to get up," she whispers, teasing.

He keeps her arm trapped behind him, stubborn as ever.

"Rafe," she breathes, leaning closer. The pillow dips under her weight, and he opens his eyes again, finding her face mere inches from his. Her hazel eyes blink back at him, soft and searching.

"Shit," he murmurs, exhaling a low sigh. He shifts closer, pressing his forehead against hers. His grip on her wrist loosens, only to wrap around her waist, pulling her in even tighter. "I can't wait to be back in our bed. Back home."

"Our?" She echos, brows furrowing. 

He reaches up to smooth out the lines, relieving her of any confusion. "I like it better than 'mine'. Our home."

Sofia sucks in her lips, biting, eyes flickering over his face before surging forward and planting a long kiss on his lips. 

"I love you."

His lips quirk, "Fuck, I love you." 

In a swift motion, he rolls, trapping her beneath him as he captures her lips again—hot, desperate, unrestrained. Her arms snake around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer. For the first time in weeks, he's felt calm. Alive. Whole. 

Sofia's muffled moan vibrates against his lips, and out of pure necessity—he needs to hear her loud and clear—he pulls away. She chases after him, her mouth seeking his, which makes him chuckle softly. Instead, he starts down her cheek to her jaw, slowly trailing his lips down as his hands slip under his sweatshirt she's wearing. His fingers seek bare skin, bunching up the shirt underneath haphazardly. 

Then he finds it—that sensitive spot just under her ear. He nips lightly, and when her breath hitches, he feels something giddy stir deep in his chest.

"Rafe, Sof—" Sarah's voice snaps them out of their bubble, "Oh my god!"

They break apart abruptly. Sofia scrambles back, attempting to put some space between them, but he doesn't let her go. It's Sarah's own fault for waltzing in. 

"Still never learned to knock." He quips dryly. 

"Didn't know knocking on my own hotel room was required, but I guess noted." She quips back with an eye roll. 

John B smirks from the doorway, "Uh, we were gonna head out in ten." He checks his watch. "Bank has been open for few hours—figured it's crowded enough by now."

Sarah claps her hands, "Chop-chop. Outta bed. Rafe put a shirt on." Sarah turns, dragging a still-amused John B in her wake. 

Sofia leaps up, throwing on her shorts and grasping for her shoes. He just groans, flopping back against the pillow.

~~~~~

It's all routine to them. Sofia hands over her passport for identification and signs her name on the papers the bank deems necessary. The only difference comes when the manager mentions the policy that only the owner of the box is allowed back. She glances between him and the rest before agreeing. The manager quickly sweeps her away, and they disappear down the hall. 

Five minutes go by as they wait in the lobby.

Out of the blue, Kiara asks, "Can we really trust her?"

A few sets of eyes glance at her, including his own.

"What?" Rafe responds, genuinely wanting to know if he understood her correctly.

Kiara turns to the group. "We don't know her, Rafe. You do."

"And at what point has she made you doubt her trustworthiness?" His voice is sharp. "Please, Kiara, enlighten us all."

"You're not exactly one to claim virtue," she snaps.

"I never claimed virtue, Kiara."

"Then you telling us to trust you that we can trust her is irrelevant," Kiara argues. 

Rafe scoffs, "I know you're bitter right now about JJ—"

"Don't you dare bring up JJ," Kiara interrupts, voice rising. "You always find some way to make yourself not the bad guy. Guess what, Rafe? You kinda are."

Sarah steps between them. "Rafe, Kiara, please—"

"Fuck off, Kiara," he states hotly.

Kiara scoffs. "Why don't you fuck off, Rafe?"

"You know what—" he seethes, stepping forward.

Sarah tries again. "Guys, this isn't the place. Please."

"Acting like a bunch of children," Cleo mutters.

"Excuse me." A man from behind the counter interrupts, concern blatant in his voice. "I'm going to have to ask you all to leave—"

"We're waiting on our friend," Pope explains.

The man nods but still urges, "Then you may wait outside." A security officer shifts nearby, ready to intervene if necessary.

"Sorry," John B apologizes before pushing Rafe toward the door, ignoring his protests.

The air outside does little to cool his anger at being confronted—at anyone doubting Sofia's integrity. In the two years he's known her, she's faulted once. And he had a part in that.

She's the best one out of all of them.

"You guys need to chill," Sarah admonishes as locals skirt around them. "You got us thrown out because you two can't act like adults."

"I'm so over pretending like Rafe isn't Rafe," Kiara argues. "He's only ever wanted our downfall, and suddenly he's all, 'I want to make nice with you guys.' It's a fucking joke. And now he's got his little girlfriend in on it. They could be trying to pull a fast one—"

"She's fucking trustworthy."

Kiara crosses her arms. "She hangs around you. Why? Who the fuck knows?"

"Fuck, Kie, she's not some mastermind. She's not going to turn on us." Rafe exhales sharply, shaking his head. "This isn't about me."

Kiara lets out a bitter laugh. "It never is, right?" She steps forward, eyes blazing. "But you can stand here and tell me to trust her like you're some fucking moral compass?"

His body tenses, the accusation striking deeper than he wants to admit. "Drop it, Kie."

"Oh, I don't think I will." She tilts her head, mock curiosity in her voice. "Tell me, Rafe, does she have any clue? About the shit you've done? Or is she still playing the naive girlfriend who thinks you're just misunderstood?"

His jaw tightens. "I said, drop it."

Kiara scoffs. "She has no clue, huh?" The rest of the Pogues shift uncomfortably. John B scratches the back of his head awkwardly as they silently watch. "That's rich. Now it makes sense why she hasn't run as far away from you as possible."

His vision flashes red. His temper flares, and his hands itch to hit something.

"Kie," Sarah pleads. "Please." She turns to him. "Rafe, calm the fuck down."

Cleo grabs Kiara's arm, gently pulling the taller woman back, putting needed distance between them.

Sarah rounds on him. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Me?" He scoffs. "I'm not the one who started it."

"Well, you could've very well not fed into it."

"Not my problem," he throws back, pointing to Kiara. "She needs to—"

"Um…" Pope suddenly cuts in, pointing down the road at the corner of the building, "Guys!"

Rafe and John B rush towards Pope, spotting Sofia a block away, being corralled by two men toward a blacked-out Escalade. One of them has a tight grip on her forearm as she digs her heels in.

"Fuck!" Rafe takes off, sprinting down the street. The others are hot on his heels, dodging locals on the crowded, narrow road.

"Sofia!" he yells.

Just before she's shoved into the car, she turns, locking eyes with him from down the road. Worry flashes across her face. The man holding her pauses slightly to look—just enough time for her to knee him in the groin. He doubles over, and she yanks her arm free.

The second man lunges for her, but she ducks and bolts down the road, squeezing through the crowd.

Rafe pushes harder to catch up as the two men take off after her.

She turns a corner up ahead, the men following suit.

Rafe rounds the same corner moments later. Down the narrow alley, one of the men grabs Sofia from behind, stopping her escape.

Rafe speeds up before calling out, "Duck!"

Sofia immediately curls down. The man, caught off guard, barely reacts before Rafe decks him in the face. His fist collides with the guy's nose with a sickening crack. The other guy attempts to grab at Rafe, but he throws him off, straight into Pope and John B.

The man holding Sofia instinctively releases her, much to Rafe's happiness, clutching his face as blood trickles between his fingers. Rafe pulls her behind him.

The other guy grapples shortly with Pope and now Kiara. Cleo comes in for the assist as the man attempts to grab Pope's backpack. There's a struggle. John B manages to pry the guy's fingers away. After a few well-placed hits from the girls, he finally stumbles back, raising his hands in surrender.

"We don't want any trouble," he wheezes.

John B scoffs, humorless, "Right. All this was just a coincidence." Sarah stands just behind John B with a glare. 

The injured guy groans as more blood seeps through his fingers. Rafe would gladly keep pummeling him if it weren't for Sofia's arms wrapping around his waist, pulling him back toward the others.

"Don't fucking touch her again," Rafe spits, pointing at them.

"Rafe." Sofia's voice, calming, warns him to settle. 

The less injured man smirks despite the tension. “Chandler Groff sends his hellos.”

Kiara sneers. "Tell him to go fuck himself."

The man snorts out a laugh, picking up the other, now attempting to dab at the blood under his nose, trailing down his mouth. He stares at Rafe like he'd love nothing more than to return the favor, but the dudes held back. 

Kiara taunts, "Not gonna try anything now?"

The man smirks. "We're smart enough to know when we're outnumbered." The other grumbles in opposition but still doesn't act. They both back away down the alley, their frustration evident before they get far enough away to turn a corner and disappear from their presence. 

Rafe turns immediately to Sofia. "You okay?"

She nods. "I'm fine. I promise."

He scans her over once more before forcing himself to accept it. Unlike other times, the wound they cleaned up last night still holds up. Luckily.

Kiara, still suspicious, turns toward Sofia. "What the fuck was that?"

"They ambushed me as soon as I got back to the lobby," Sofia explains. "Dragged me out the other doors."

"They say anything to you?" Cleo asks, her skepticism clear.

"No. They just grabbed me."

Kiara narrows her eyes. "You didn't start fighting them until Rafe called your name."

Sofia looks taken aback.

Rafe interjects. "Kiara, back off.”

Sofia, the intelligent woman Rafe has come to know, catches on quickly. 

"You doubt me?" Sofia's eyes narrow.

Kiara holds her gaze. "I don't know you."

Sofia exhales sharply, incredulous. "I don't know you either. But I'm not standing here questioning your intentions."

The tension lingers, thick and unrelenting, until Pope cuts through it. "Sofia, did you get another stone piece?"

She digs into her pocket and produces a stone piece, much like the other two in their possession. She passes it to Pope's awaiting hand as he unzips his backpack, where the two have been hidden in a side compartment. 

Once he fishes those out, he glances around to ensure they are, in fact, alone in the alley before sorting them in his open palm. Silence settles as the fragment clicks into place, forming three-fourths of a circular pendant. The carvings and patterns align, revealing an incomplete pyramid-like design on the back.

John B squints. "It's got some, like... ancient Aztec vibes or something."

"Wonderfully descriptive," Pope deadpans jokingly, rolling his eyes before pulling out his phone. "The last box is ten grand and thirty hours away." He looks up. "I'd ask how we're getting there, but—"

Rafe exhales, slipping the platinum card from his pocket. It feels heavier every time he hands it over.

Pope takes it with a tight smile.

Rafe can only hope he gets that money wired back soon.

__________________

Next part: Chapter 14

[ren14554]

*Want to start from the beginning? Chapter 1

Eternal

Chapter 12: Journey to Japan

They’re only three hours into their fourteen-hour flight, and she already has to pee for the second time. The worst part about long-haul flights for her is being stuck in a window seat next to strangers while literally everyone else is trying to finish their dinner to get ample time for sleep.

They were only able to find seats scattered throughout the cabin. Sofia volunteered John B and Sarah for the seats further up the cabin when Pope offered up the only two they found next to one another. The rest of them didn’t really argue, both Sarah and John B grateful for the consideration. Rafe didn’t look too bothered, but he didn’t acknowledge her assurance that the couple needed to sit together.

It’s not like her and Rafe are exactly getting on with one another since the honesty on the train. They’ve barely spoken more than six words since then.

“Hungry?” Rafe had asked when they were waiting at the boarding gate. 

“No,” was all she responded. 

“Water?” he asked a little while later when he ambled off with his sister, probably already peckish thanks to the baby currently growing inside her. He’d handed her a cold bottle of Smart Water.

She just responded with a soft, “Thanks,” taking it gratefully. 

Finally his “After you” when they boarded, letting her go ahead of him in the aisle.

She felt him staring at her—row after row—until they found their seats. Two window seats, one behind the other. He let her take the row in front. Any soft shuffle of her seat felt deliberate.

Her neighbor is already asleep after the full meal they received, and she has half a mind to stay and not bother the poor guy but she’s really got to go. Part of her regrets going at all.

As soon as she exits the bathroom, anew for another few hours at least, just as she’s shuffling past a guy waiting, the one just ahead of them opens. Unfortunately, she’s walking right by when it happens.

Her head collides with the opened door, startled by the sudden environmental change.

“Oh crap,” the stranger whispers, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she winces, trying to shake off the rush of nerves firing from the impact.

“Are you sure? I bopped you pretty good.” The older woman grimaces, attempting to see any damage done. 

“I’m fine.” Sofia responds.

The stranger doesn’t look convinced, but how much does one really want to argue with a complete stranger in the back of a plane near the bathrooms in dim lighting while everyone else is trying to sleep?

Not much, apparently, as the woman apologizes again before quickly moving off to wherever her seat is. Sofia ambles back up the rows, hoping to find some Advil and catch a few minutes of sleep. Maybe it’ll help ease the headache creeping in.

She squeezes by her two companions and manages to sit, avoiding the glance Rafe shoots her from his spot curled up against the window. She shifts to get as comfortable as possible in the stiff seat and closes her eyes for the minute or two reprieve she can get.

“Excuse me, Miss,” she startles, a concerned flight attendant leaning expertly over the row. Her other two companions are annoyed by the intrusion. “Are you okay?”

Sofia nods.

“You’re bleeding.”

The woman’s words bring to mind Kiara’s back in Cairo. Just like then, Sofia’s hand instinctively reaches up to touch her gauze-covered wound, feeling the blood seep through to her fingertips. Not fucking again. 

“I’m sorry,” she mutters, unable to help herself.

The flight attendant smiles kindly, shaking her head. “I’ll be right back.” The woman manages to procure a few napkins out of her apron and hands them over before moving back down the aisle. They hold up pretty well while Sofia sits, waiting for the bleeding to subside.

When the flight attendant comes back, she’s relieved to see the bleeding has mostly stopped.

“We have a seat open in comfort class. If you'd like to gather your things, we can move you up there and get that cleaned up.”

Part of Sofia wants to say yes. If she didn’t care about Rafe, if she didn’t care to leave him behind on the flight, she would. But another part of her feels like she’s exactly where she needs to be.

“Um, I’m okay. I think if there’s just some gauze or something, I can clean this up.”

“I have a first aid kit.” The flight attendant regards the man in the middle, who glares subtly at her. “Sir, if you’d like to take the comfort seat, we can move you quickly, and I can help this young woman with her issue.”

The man grunts but agrees, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he’s upgraded, likely away from her as a bloody mess. 

Another attendant moves him, and the woman squeezes into his newly vacated seat.

As she unlatches the kit, Sofia’s seat bobs gently. Rafe’s voice, low but concerned, cuts through the quiet. “What happened?”

The flight attendant glances up from rooting around the kit, “Apologies—“

“I ran into a door,” Sofia responds. The attendant exchanges a quick glance between the two of them before going back to picking out the gauze and tape. Sofia can’t wait for this whole situation to be over.

“You okay?” he asks softly, his voice low in the dim cabin.

“Yeah,” she replies quickly, wincing as she removes the old gauze, revealing the wound, which is now drying red.

The flight attendant works swiftly, cleaning up the blood and applying a new gauze pad. Part of Sofia feels a deep sense of shame at having to be tended to on a flight somewhere over Scandinavia or Russia.

“You should be good for a bit,” the flight attendant says kindly.

“Thank you,” Sofia smiles tiredly.

“Sir, would you like to move up with your companion?” The flight attendant regards Rafe, her voice soft so as not to disturb the other passengers. Her seat shifts softly, as he maneuvers past the middle and aisle seats. He nods curtly at the flight attendant as she steps aside for him to shuffle up a row. Just as he’s about to pass a girl sitting in the aisle, she pipes up softly.

“If you’re not going to need your seat, would you mind if I take it?” Rafe nods in approval, and the attendant smiles warmly at the girl, watching her vacate her seat for Rafe’s. 

Rafe, as gently as possible, settles into the middle seat. The attendant leans over the seats, smiling, “If you need anything, just press the call button.”

Sofia gives a tired but grateful smile as the attendant moves on.

Rafe turns to her, his gaze fixed on the fresh gauze taped to her hairline. “How’s the head?” he whispers.

“Fine,” she murmurs.

He doesn’t quite believe her. “Yeah, a head wound that opened up again because you ‘accidentally ran’ into a door, all fine.”

“Rafe,” she sighs. “My head is pounding, and I’m so freaking tired. Whatever hot and cold you’ve got going on right now, I don’t want it.” She’s never really starkly rude to him. Only a handful of times when they’ve fought in the past did she even start to raise her voice or argue back. That time on the beach, when Ruthie so brazenly ran over the newly hatched baby turtles, is the only time in recent memory she didn’t take Rafe’s attitude he so easily dishes out. 

Rafe is speechless for a moment, but his next words startle her.

__________________

“I forgive you.”

Sofia regards him with furrowed brows, and a slight headache, before it dawns on her. Sofia’s brows lift, “Is that because you actually forgive me or because you’re feeling guilty?”

“I deserve that,” Rafe swallows. “I admit the way I handled it… Groff telling me you had a part in getting me to sign the papers, knowing he walked away with almost half a million of my money—it was a lot to process. The desert heat, the storm on the boat… for a few minutes there, I’m pretty sure most of the Pouges didn’t even want to uncuff me. And then discovering that the woman I loved benefited from Groff’s scheme…” He pauses, shaking his head. “I was… emotionally charged.”

Sofia just blinks at him, her expression unreadable.

“I’m sorry, too,” he says softly, his voice cracking slightly. “I should’ve talked to you.”

She nods once, but her silence carries weight.

“And what Ruthie said. What she asked. The things I said after… I don’t believe them. Not for a minute.” His words are quieter now, but their sincerity is undeniable. Sofia shifts slightly, her gaze meeting his. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

Her brows furrow at his confession, searching his face for more.

“When I asked you to marry me,” he continues, “it was because I wanted to build a life with you. Because—if I’m being honest—you’re way out of my league. It’s me who shouldn’t be up to your standards.”

Sofia’s eyes flit between his, a flicker of something fierce lighting in her expression. “As my dad would say, any man would be lucky to be with me.”

“Then I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

This girl who’s had him in a chokehold the minute she saw something good in him two years ago, when she barely even knew him. This woman who let him grow and evolve within her forgiving presence and her constant belief that he’s someone worth it.

That is the woman he wants to vow to keep happy for the rest of her life. And he’s delighted to just exist in her orbit. 

He leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. It’s soft and sweet, lingering just enough to convey his sincerity while staying cautious, aware of the hundreds of sleeping strangers surrounding them mid-air.

“No more secrets,” she whispers as they part, her smile small but resolute. “Between us. No more.”

His heart tightens at her words. The things he’s done, all the things he was—he feels the shadows of his past selves still hovering. But present-day Rafe is striving to be better, shedding the parts of himself that never served him, that never benefited anyone.

Sofia doesn’t know everything— not beyond whispers and rumors. And she doesn’t need to. Because she’s shown him something he’s never fully believed before: Rafe Cameron, without the shadow of his father looming over him, is enough. Enough for her. Enough for himself.

He breathes shakily. “Agreed."

She bites her lip for a moment, a brief flash of suspicion in her gaze before she kisses him again, which he willingly inhales.

This is worth working for.

She lifts the armrest between them and curls up in her seat, leaning over to rest her head against his chest. He catches on, shifting towards her and wrapping his arm around her, pulling her in more securely. They rest in comfortable silence, muted shuffling of bodies around them and the drone of the plane’s engine becoming like white noise. 

“When we land, I’m taking you to a doctor.” Rafe softly grumbles in her ear a few minutes later, after she falls asleep. 

The rest of the flight is a blur for them both; sleep is a relief from the past two days. Rafe wakes her when the flight attendants start to pass out their second meal, plopping the blueberries from his fruit cup into hers as they eat silently with the rest of the bleary-eyed passengers. He likes blueberries, but she loves them. 

Her eyes light up when he slips out a bag of Belgian chocolates he picked up at the airport. And he and the flight attendant check on her every few hours as they inched their way closer to Japan, making sure the need of another fresh new gauze wasn’t needed. Luckily, the incision makes the rest of the wave relatively unscathed. 

~~~~~

The night air in Japan is warm but not stifling. The neon signs begin to light the city as the sun makes its descent to the horizon, painting the sky with beautiful blues, pinks, purples, and oranges. It feels kind of like summer nights back home.

They murmur amongst themselves as they make their way further down the street, coming to a stop at a crossroad. 

“Okay,” Sarah sighs, “do we have enough to get a hotel room?”

“I’d die for a shower right about now.” Kiara groans, resting her forearm on Sarah’s shoulder. 

“Put it on the card.” Rafe sighs, quickly whipping it out and holding it forth for his sister to snatch up. “I’m taking Sof to a doctor.”

“Rafe—“ Sofia tries. 

“Text me where you guys end up.” He continues.

Sarah nods as the rest of them glances briefly between him and Sofia, who currently stares up at him with false indignation. 

They part ways easily though, Rafe snaking an arm around Sofias neck while willing his phone to make more sense on directions to the nearest doctor who will hopefully take in two foreigners without much paperwork. 

Luckily it seems other countries are more forgiving with their healthcare— the first clinic only half a mile away takes them in as soon as they arrive. 

The room is comforting, warmth radiating from the peaceful skyscapes they have hung in the walls. The light orange lamp light brightening up the dimness they currently reside in. 

The Doctor is even more comforting, quickly converting to English as soon as he realized they are Americans. 

“Any onset pain you’ve had since receiving this… gash?” He asks. 

“Now and again, I get headaches.”

The man makes quick work of fixing the sutures and rattling off precautions he suggests going forward:

Plenty of rest. Difficult. 

No strenuous or vigorous activity. Hard. 

Pain meds when needed. Doable. 

“I can have the nurses prepare you a take-home kit. Let me go get that and I will finish up putting in your release papers.” He says as he finishes up covering the wound with a fresh gauze. He exits shortly after with a smile, leaving them to the silence of the room. 

Rafe ambles over to a few of the framed degrees and certificates on the wall but can’t help glancing over at Sofia, who sits on the examining table, legs dangling. She catches his gaze as he turns back to the diplomas.

“What?” she asks skeptically.

He breathes deeply and turns, analyzing her for a moment. The gash in her hairline is inflamed, stitched back up, and raw. Her rumpled clothes from days spent on the move. Her hazel eyes hold the same warmth she gave him day in and day out at Tannyhill. And her bare ring finger advertises her availability—should she choose to stop choosing him. The ring she left on the letter she left him. The ring that now sits somewhere, thrown in a kitchen drawer.

She doesn’t press him… yet. 

He slowly walks closer until he’s standing in front of her. 

He can’t help but be drawn in and it sucks. Sucks that he feels so attached. Sucks that he’s become and continues to be so intertwined with her very being. He had enough time to reflect on why he was so rash that day in Morocco when Groff uttered Sofia’s name. Knew who she was. What she did. He didn’t think. He wasn’t rational, even if, at the time, it felt like the right thing to do. 

He leans in and kisses her, closed fists holding him up on either side of her, inhaling the sterile office and the soft scent of her. 

Her nails briefly scratch the back of his scalp before her other hand makes it to his neck and pulls them apart. 

“Rafe.”

Even his name on her lips makes him feel guilty. 

“Sometimes I wish you never met me.”

Fuck. Part of him wishes he kept that an inside thought. 

Sofia pushes him further away, her hands wrapping loosely around the back of his neck. “What?”

“You wouldn’t have been near Hollis if you had never met me. And you wouldn’t have to be here, dealing with—” he gestures to her sitting on the examining table, “—any of this.”  

“If I never met you?” she implores with exasperation. “Would you really want that?”  

“You’d be safer—“  

“I’d be sadder,” she counters.  

Rafe’s eyes dart around her face. Searching. 

“Don’t do that Rafe.” She pushes him further away, her face scrunching up. “Don’t go all woe is me. I’m glad you came into my life. And all this shit came with it, but I’m willing to handle it with you.”

The earlier guilt of who he was lingers in the shadows of his memory. He pushes it away. 

She continues, “What happened to what you said on the plane?”

“None of that changes—“

“Then spare me whatever guilt you’re feeling about Hollis and Groff and the rest of it. Cause even if I never met Hollis, if you needed me for a second— on whatever this security box goose chase is with Groff— I would’ve come running regardless.”

She’s too good for him and he fucking knows it. 

“Excuse me,” the doctor re-enters, glancing between the two and their closeness. Rafe moves a few steps away, allowing them to converse more easily. 

Luckily Sarah texts him their location giving him a moment of distraction. 

“Make sure you redress the wound at least twice a day for the next three or four days just to be sure no infections appear. If no discharge is spotted you can move to one a day the stitches look a bit more infused. At that point I recommend going in to a doctor and getting them checked out. They’ll either remove them or advise if more time is needed.”

Sofia nods diligently while the doctor rattles off a few more items of note: when to take the meds, what to do should it unfortunately open back up, and the ointment to help with scaring. 

“The nurses out together a little kit with a weeks supply of gauze and tape along with the ointment we talked about.” He hands over a while plastic bag. “Should you need anything do not hesitate going to get it checked out.”

“Thank you so much,” Sofia says with a kind smile.

The man smiles back, shooting Rafe a quick nod and smile before bidding his goodbyes. 

__________________

They check out shortly, and walk back out onto the now-dark, rain-slicked streets. The air is charged with the lingering summer storm that rolled through while they were inside. The puddles reflect the neon signs and shop windows. 

In a perfect world she’d be here with Rafe on a leisurely vacation they decided to book on a random Wednesday on a whim. Walking the rain sleeked streets in search of something interesting. But they’re not. And the only moment they’ve had to themselves this entire ordeal is now. And she can’t quite say that she would change a thing.

As they wait on a street corner for the crosswalk to change, Rafe’s arm drapes around her neck, analyzing the street corner as she glances up at him.

“Thank you.”

He continues starring off at something that catches his eye but answers, “For what?”

“For caring.” 

His brows furrow only for a moment before he finally glances down at her. His free hand comes to grasp the side of her neck, his thumb rubbing her jaw lightly back and forth before gripping lightly at her chin and placing a lingering kiss against her lips. She willingly kisses back. When he pulls back, there’s the smile that he just can’t get rid of. It’s small. But it means so much. Comfort. Love. Content. 

Sofia smiles up at him softly. 

He lets a little laugh of air escape his lips as he looks back off into the distant street, littered with a few people going about their normal night. 

“Come on,” is all he says, leading her towards their final destination for the night. 

__________________

The hotel is… decent. The lobby is sparsely occupied by other travelers and locals alike. The hotel bar toward the back has a few late-night guests milling about as they make their way to the elevator, the soft hum of voices keeping them company. 

Rafe manages to find the correct room— 5120— which already sounds more than lively behind the door. Cleo greets them at the door, revealing the rest of the group lounging on the two queen beds, already digging into piles of snacks.

“We hit the local convenience store and grabbed anything that looked good.” John B states, gesturing at the assortment of random sushi triangles, unreadable flavored chip bags, and handfuls of ice cups and drink packs littering the coffee table.

“Courtesy of Cameron Development, I presume?”

“But of course,” Sarah smirks before biting into an undetectable sandwich. “Need to keep this baby satisfied with sustienance.” 

Rafe snorts at her as the rest of them palyfully roll their eyes. 

“Catch,” John B says, tossing a keycard his way. It flies weakly through the air, but Rafe manages to catch it against his stomach.

“We got two rooms.”

“Wonderful,” he grumbles. The credit card bill just keeps going up. The sooner he can get his hands on Groff, the better.

Sarah explains, “Figured Cleo, Pope, and Kiara would take this room, and the rest of us will be across the hall.” She smiles softly at him.

He nods. It’ll be the first time in almost three days that they’ve all slept in an actual bed. And he guesses it means something if Sarah is willing to share a room with him, even if John B and Sofia will be there too.

As Sofia gently shuffles through the pile of various food items, searching for something that interests her, Rafe sinks onto the edge of one of the beds, keeping an ear on the conversation the Pogues continue.

“It’s gotta be some kind of stone circle,” Cleo states. “The pieces don’t fit, but if there are a few more, then they have to connect somehow.”

Sofia meanders over and sits beside him, proffering a sandwich labeled tamago sando. He doesn’t know what it means, but his stomach definitely doesn’t care.

“Guess we won’t know until we find the others,” John B surmises after taking a bite of ramen. “What if they don’t fit, though? I mean, the two we have don’t fit. Who’s to say the others will?”

“I think we just need to find them,” Pope says. “Then we can talk about ‘what ifs.’”

“So, what’s the destination for tomorrow?” Rafe asks before taking a bite of the sandwich. It hits the spot.

“The bank is about eight minutes away. Figured we’d wait a little after opening—just in case Groff and his people are watching.”

“Crowds.” Rafe nods.

“Safer with people around than not,” Pope agrees.

“How are you doing, Sofia?” Sarah suddenly asks, turning her attention to her.

“Better.” Sofia smiles back. “Finally feels like there’s a moment to breathe.”

“Yeah,” John B agrees. “Chasing after an unknown treasure tends to take it out of you.”

The Pogues share a chuckle.

The conversation drifts back to the artifacts they’ve found and what they might lead to—another lost civilization, gold at the bottom of the ocean, treasure beyond their wildest dreams, even after everything they’ve already seen with their own eyes.

Sofia listens curiously beside Rafe as Pope and Cleo reminisce, while Kiara bubbles with laughter and a touch of sadness as she recalls an escapade with JJ. Rafe stays silent, not letting on that he was their adversary for most of it. Instead, he allows Sarah to tell the stories, reliving their past adventures as if she’s experiencing them all over again—despite the life-or-death moments they so often ran into.

They probably stay up far longer than they should.

__________________

Next part: Chapter 13

[ren14554]

*Want to start from the beginning? Chapter 1

Eternal

Chapter 11: London - Part 2

The train station is bustling even as the sun sets, the lamplight leading them up to the entrance. People from near and far mill about, a few running, probably more than a little late, to their various trains. The group surveys all they can see, unsure exactly what they’re looking for. Stores line the walls, and different food spots mix smells, creating a cacophony of food scents.

Rafe meanders a few feet away, analyzing a sign. “There are some lockers on the first floor,” he says, pointing to the train station map. “Those need combinations…”

They crowd around, much to Rafe’s chagrin.

“Hey,” Sarah smiles, “Good find, Rafe.” It doesn’t feel like a big win. But this trying thing with Sarah actually feels kinda nice. The rest of the Pouges he could easily ignore and be happy, but at least he’s got the opportunity to mend something with the only family he has left.

John B leads, but they quickly rush to the station’s first floor, following the signage for the locker system. The locker system is located in a nondescript corner where you wouldn’t find it unless you were looking for it.

“Okay.” Pope starts as they enter through a long hallway, barely lit by old sconces. The room is winding, with hundreds of lockers dimly lit with harsh overhead lights, sitting cold and mostly abandoned. “Split up. We’re looking for locker-” Pope turns the note over to analyze the four-digit number in the back, “1584.”

Silently, they split; Rafe absentmindedly follows after Sarah and John B, turning to realize Sofia ended up the other way, following closely to Cleo, disappearing around a corner of lockers.

As they get deeper, the numbers go from 2000s to 5000s.

John B vocalizes it: “Their locker system has no organization.”

“They probably don’t even know this place exists.” Rafe retorts dryly.

Sarah suddenly jumps back, almost knocking straight into her boyfriend. “No one’s cleaned down here in ages.” The giant spider web houses a nicely sized spider that sits between a gap in a set of lockers. Sarah visibly shivers and continues.

Suddenly, Kiara shouts, “Hey guys,” from deeper within the lockers. “I found it.”

They all converge on her voice, crowding around locker 1584 with anticipation. Hopefully, there will not be another goose chase around London or another riddle needing to be big-brained.

“What was the combination again?” Kiara asks as she readies the dial.

“Basically, same as the security box.” Sarah replies, “15,84,5.”

Pope shifts to get a better view as Kiara’s fingers nimbly twist the lock dial forward and backward, carefully matching each number exactly.

The lock clicks, unlatching, filling the room with anticipation.

Kiara removes the lock and eases the door open, its hinges creaking from disuse. How long did Hollis have these deposit boxes and never herself decided to find out what’s in them? And if she did, when and why?

A slightly dusty black velvet pouch sits in the middle. Kiara carefully grabs it and unfurrows the strings, reaching in to pull out an artifact warily similar to the one they found in Egypt.

Pope shuffles quickly around his backpack, pulling out the other part before bringing it close to Kiara.

“They don’t fit,” Pope states with disappointment as he and Kiara shift the pieces around each other, trying to match them up, to no avail.

“Well,” Cleo states, “at least we found a similar piece to the other. Maybe the other ones will connect them?”

“Only one way to find out.” John B replies, “Where’s the next one?”

“Japan,” Pope answers quickly. Rafe’s pretty sure he saw Pope studying the addresses briefly while they waited to board the plane to London.

Cleo surmises, “They’ll expect us at the airport for sure.”

“Why don’t we take a train to the next closest airport?” Rafe supplies. Easy.

The Pouges glance at one another, basically shrugging at each other.

Cleo says, “Not a bad idea, white boy. We could get to Paris or something and go from there.”

Pope follows up, already tapping away on his phone, “Belgium would be quicker.” A few more taps and relatively comfortable silence later, “and there’s a train that leaves here in about thirty.”

“What a coincidence,” Kiara states.

“Well, you guys figure out tickets or whatever,” Sarah finger guns sarcastically. “I’m going to find some food because I am eating for two and starving.”

John B nods, “Saw a few spots out there. May stop by a shop and grab a few road essentials.”

“I’ll come with,” Pope states.

Sarah glances at Sofia with a smile. “Hungry?”

Sofia smiles gratefully. “Terribly so.”

Sarah grabs Sofia’s arm and pulls her along, nodding for Kiara and Cleo to follow, which they do easily. Rafe reluctantly watches her go, opting to swing by the convenience store with Pope and John B.

~~~~~

They manage to find several open seats on the next high-speed train to Brussels, and there wasn’t a menacing mercenary in sight. Well-fed and stocked up on a few essentials and clean clothes—courtesy of Cameron Development—they settle in, spreading out across one of the train cabins.

They have about two hours before they needed to disembark, hoping that with a bit of shut-eye, catching the flight Cleo and Kiara had researched to Japan would get them a step closer without having to keep running for their lives, at least for now.

Sarah is the first to drift off, her head resting on John B’s shoulder just ten minutes in. The soft hum of the high-speed train worked like a lullaby. John B tried to stay awake, but when Rafe noticed his eyes blinking heavily and his head gently tipping to rest on Sarah’s, he knew they’d be out until they were close to Brussels.

“Sarah’s pregnant.”

He imagines it would be more of a questionable surprise, but Sofia is direct with her declaration.

“Yeah,” he replies softly. Sarah shifts her head slightly on John B’s shoulder, their breathing synchronized. “She didn’t tell me directly. After the shipwreck, she announced it to the rest of the Pogues.” He tries to mask the disappointment that threatens to surface. Of course, Sofia seems to sense it.

“I’m sure that if she didn’t want you to know, she wouldn’t have shared it in front of you.” Sofia’s eyes flicker momentarily towards him. He readjusts his position, leaning back against the headrest while ensuring Sofia remains in sight.

“You always see the good in people,” he murmurs.

“As opposed to what? The terrible?" She avoids his gaze. “What good does that do except make you depressed?"

His affection for her clashes with the anger that has been simmering beneath the surface for days.

“Why did you do it?"

Sofia stiffens beside him.

“What?” she replies, her voice cautious, as though not quite understanding—or maybe pretending not to.

He exhales sharply. “Why did you make the deal?"

A beat passes. Sofia’s fingers tighten around the fabric of her shorts. “I don’t know.”

His jaw tightens. “That’s not good enough.”

She presses her lips together, her posture growing more rigid. For a moment, he thinks she won’t answer at all. The space between them is thick with unspoken words, their usual ease replaced by the weight of betrayal.

Finally, she speaks, her voice soft, hesitant. “I was sure until I stepped onto that boat to meet Hollis.” She gently swallows. “I could’ve said no ten—twenty times, but I didn’t. I wish I had.”

Rafe shakes his head, running a hand over his face. “Then why the hell did you do it? To me? To us?”

Sofia lets out a soft breath that sounds almost like a laugh, no humor to be found. “Because honestly, Rafe,” she turns to look up at him, her eyes filled with hurt, her voice barely above a whisper, “because I didn’t really feel like there was an ‘us.’”

Rafe’s stomach drops. His fingers curl into fists on his lap. “That’s bullshit.”

“Is it?” she fires back, a bitter edge creeping into her tone. “Because from where I was standing, I was just some girl you were—” She stops herself, shaking her head as if she can’t bring herself to finish it.

“That’s not fair.” His voice is lower now, controlled but strained. “You know I—”

“I overheard you talking to Ruthie and Topper at the Club.” He stills as Sofia swallows again, her voice small. “I was coming to surprise you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’d never live with a Pouge.” His stomach drops, and her gaze fills with a mix of hurt and disappointment.

“Sofia—”

“I don’t meet your standards,” she continues, undeterred. “Or rather, you have them, and what— I don’t?”

“I was annoyed and trying to get Ruthie off my back.” He argues back.

Rafe checks his volume. Sofia purses her lips. “So you degraded our relationship?”

A passenger across the cabin shifts in their seat, stealing a brief glance in their direction before turning away. He shits in his seat, checking his volume.

Sofia shakes her head tiredly. “It’s been almost two years.” She looks at him then, and it’s not just anger in her expression—it’s hurt. Deep, undeniable hurt. “I was here thinking we were exclusive and that you were with me because you wanted to be.”

Silence feels like the right move.

“So yeah.” She exhales slowly, looking away again. “When Hollis offered me money to convince you to sign the deal, I took it. Regretfully.”

Rafe lets out a sharp breath, tilting his head back against the seat. “I trusted you,” he says, voice low. Sofia’s shoulders tense.

“You turned on me the moment your feelings got hurt,” he continues.

She flinches, barely, but enough for him to notice.

“I know,” Sofia says quietly. “If I could take it back—trust my instincts—I would. Every time.”

She bites her lip, her gaze falling to her lap. “I am truly sorry.”

Rafe studies her, the words she’d left in her note still carved into his memory. It had already torn him apart. And this? This hurts just as much.

He had never meant for her to hear him say those things months ago. Ruthie was being conniving, and he wasn’t up for her shit. And part of him, maybe at the time, wanted to save face. He’d never would’ve said those things if he knew she’d hear him.

Or at least… he wouldn’t now.

Ward had spent years feeding him those thoughts. The idea that being a Kook meant something. That living in Figure Eight put you above people from The Cut. The man may have grown up there, but he had clawed out and made sure Rafe knew the difference. No matter how much he tried to shake it, it was ingrained in him.

But Sofia? She could be from anywhere and still be the best person in the room.

The realization settles in his chest, but it doesn’t fix anything.

They don’t talk for the rest of the train ride, and Sofia barely glances at him as they wait for their flight in Brussels, arms crossed tightly over her chest, protective. She doesn’t reach for him like she did on the way to London. Doesn’t lean against him absentmindedly or brush their fingers together when she moves.

It’s awkward. Painful.

Sarah glances at him numerous times, whispering with John B in front of him as they all wait for security, grab their things off the conveyor belt, or ride the tram to their gate.

He ignores the looks up until Sarah corners him, volunteering to get snacks and taking him along with her. Brother and sister time, she tries to explain much to everyone’s slight refusal to believe, but he goes along with it. Leaving Sofia with the others and knowing he’s about to get an earful from Sarah.

“What did you do?” She finally asks as they stand in front of a small refrigerator wall, with foreign and American drinks on display.

He turns slightly, “Why does it have to be me who did something?”

Sarah levels him with a glare, hands on her hips.

“Fine, yes. I played a part. Larger than I thought.” He goes for a few waters from the refrigerator. When he steps back next to Sarah, she’s still slightly turned toward him, expectant.

“Can I help you?” He asks annoyed.

“And?”

“And what?”

“What’re you gonna do to solve it?”

He turns, “You’re like an annoying little fly—“

“Hey,” Sarah denies, “I’m more like a… a ladybug.”

“I don’t care. Keep to your own business.” He turns and walks a few paces to a wall of various snacks. He stares at it as one of the doors behind him opens and closes, keeping him sane in the moment.

Sarah steps back up next to him, a random assortment of drinks clutched in her hands.

“You could apologize.”

He grunts.

“Out of everyone here, she’s probably your strongest ally.” Sarah’s blatant in her remark. “We’re still getting into a groove, and no offense, but I’m pretty sure everyone else tolerates you for my sake.”

“Not looking for any of their approval.” He volleys.

“I know.” Sarah agrees. They stand in comfortable silence even though he knows his sister is itching to say more. And lo and behold, not a minute later.

“So?”

“What?”

“What’re you gonna do?”

He starts to walk away, tired already from the little to no sleep in almost a day of traveling at this point, not to mention the next fourteenish hours that they’ll be stuck in another metal tube flying hundreds of miles an hour. But Sarah snatches the back of his t-shirt, pulling him back.

“Rafe.”

He huffs. “I don’t know.” He scratches the back of his head with his free hand. He rolls his eyes at her. “Apologize.”

“That would be a start,” Sarah says pointedly happy, glad it finally sunk in. “What are her favorite snacks?”

Sarah turns back to the wall of foreign goods, where some Americanized brands are littered but not as great in amount as back in the States. He lets her pick up different kinds of snacks in various languages, and she laughs at some of the oddities of flavors and descriptions translated to English for people like them, American travelers. He even chuckles when she picks up barbeque ham-flavored Lays and proceeds to question her sanity.

All Rafe wants is for them to be okay again.

__________________

Next part: Chapter 12