The world was a blur of pain and saltwater.

Ethan's body screamed with every stroke as he swam through the churning ocean, the cold biting into his muscles like daggers. He could barely feel his arms, numb from the seventy-foot plunge into the dark sea. The fall had been brutal—he was lucky to be alive, they all were. But Eric...

He clutched his unconscious nephew to his chest, kicking through the water with sheer force of will. Eric's tiny body was limp, his heartbeat slow, his breaths shallow, almost imperceptible. Ethan's own heart thudded against his ribcage, each beat echoing with a desperation that threatened to consume him.

"Just hold on," Ethan whispered, his voice breaking. "Please... hold on."

Around him, the rest of the team fought to stay afloat. Rae swam beside him, her face tight with pain but her eyes locked on Ethan, filled with the same fierce determination. Marcus and Vic struggled a few yards ahead, each movement slower, more labored, but they were close—so close—to the mangrove line where the boat was hidden.

But Ethan could feel the weight of Eric pulling him down, the boy barely hanging on, each second a battle against time and the merciless sea. The mangroves were only a few yards away now, the shadowy outline of their boat just visible through the dense leaves. They were almost there.

Then—voices.

Shouts erupted from the shoreline behind them, cutting through the crashing waves like gunfire. Ethan's head snapped up, adrenaline surging through his veins. Rebels. A small group had spotted them, their figures silhouetted against the fading moonlight, rifles raised.

"Shit!" Vic gasped, turning toward the boat. "Go! We're out of time!"

The crack of gunfire exploded behind them, bullets whizzing past, some striking the water with deadly force. Ethan ducked instinctively, his arms tightening around Eric. The rebels had closed in fast, and now they were trapped—exposed in the water with nowhere to run.

"Keep moving!" Rae shouted, her voice sharp with urgency. "We can't stop now!"

Ethan's muscles screamed in protest, but he pushed forward, gritting his teeth as he swam with everything he had. They were only a few yards from the boat, but every second felt like an eternity, the weight of Eric dragging him under as the relentless gunfire filled the air.

Rico was the first to reach the boat. He grabbed the side and heaved himself over, his face pale and strained from exhaustion. He reached and pulled up Jag, who despite his injury, followed close behind with Miriam's help, groaning in pain as he collapsed onto the deck.

"Come on, Ethan!" Vic called, already scrambling to start the engine. "We need to go, now!"

Ethan was almost there. His fingers brushed the side of the boat when a bullet sliced through the water beside him, narrowly missing his shoulder. He felt the rush of terror, the awareness that their window was closing fast.

Marcus and Rae were still in the water, dragging themselves toward the boat, while Ethan finally hoisted Eric up with a strength he didn't know he had. Rico lifted Eric and slowly lowered the boy's limp body onto the deck. He quickly checked the boy's vital signs and gave the thumbs-up sign.

Ethan hauled himself over, gasping for air. The weight of the moment crashed over him, his body trembling with adrenaline and exhaustion.

But then—Rico.

Ethan looked up just in time to see his old friend standing at the edge of the boat, his eyes locked on the rebels who had now started to go into the water. There were too many—at least a dozen of them, closing in with murderous intent, their rifles aimed directly at the team.

Rico's face was a mask of grim determination, and in his hands—two live grenades.

"Rico..." Ethan's voice cracked, the realization dawning on him in an instant.

Rico turned to him, his expression fierce but filled with an unmistakable sadness. "Get them out of here, Ethan," he said, his voice steady. "I'll hold them off."

Ethan's heart froze.

"Rico, don't—" Ethan lunged forward, but Rico already leaped from the side, landing with a splash in the shallow water. Rae grabbed Ethan's arm, pulling him back, her eyes wide with understanding. She knew what Rico was about to do, and so did Ethan. But the horror of it was too much to bear.

"I said go!" Rico roared, his voice cutting through the chaos. He turned back toward the rebels, his fingers gripping the grenades with white-knuckled resolve. "There's no time, brother! Get Eric out of here—get everyone out of here!"

Vic revved the engine, the boat lurching forward as bullets peppered the water around them. But Ethan couldn't move—he couldn't tear his eyes away from Rico, his oldest friend, about to make the ultimate sacrifice.

"Rico... Rico!" Ethan shouted, his voice breaking with anguish. "Don't do this, brother!"

Rico's eyes softened, just for a moment. "I have to, brother," he said quietly, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "It's the only way."

The boat surged forward, as Rico ran toward the rebels, the two grenades clutched tightly in his hands. The rebels shouted in confusion, some firing at him as he charged. A couple of bullets hit Rico's chest head on, but he didn't stop. He didn't falter.

A couple more hit his stomach and shoulder. Still he moved forward.

Ethan's world narrowed to that single image—Rico, his brother from another mother, charging headlong into death with a wild, defiant grin on his face.

"No!" Ethan screamed, lunging forward again, but Vic was already steering the boat away, the engine roaring as they sped toward safety. Rae held onto Ethan, her arms tight around him as he struggled, his heart breaking with every second.

The last thing Ethan saw was Rico, just yards away from the rebels, shouting something incomprehensible into the night.

Then—the explosion.

The twin grenades detonated with a deafening roar, the blast sending a shockwave through the air. Flames and smoke billowed into the night sky, and for a brief moment, the rebels were consumed by fire and chaos. But Rico—Rico was gone.

Ethan's body went limp, the weight of what had just happened crashing down on him with unbearable force. He sank to his knees on the deck, his breath coming in ragged, broken sobs. Rico had sacrificed himself—he had chosen to die so that the rest of them could live.

"Rico..." Ethan whispered, his voice hoarse and raw.

Rae knelt beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder. "He saved us, Ethan," she said softly, her voice thick with emotion. "He knew what he was doing."

But it didn't matter. The pain in Ethan's chest was overwhelming, a grief so deep it felt like it would tear him apart. Rico had been more than just a friend—he had been like a brother. And now, he was gone.

The boat sped through the dark waters, the distant shore fading into the night, but Ethan couldn't see anything beyond the image of Rico charging into battle, those grenades in his hands, that final look in his eyes, giving up his life in exchange for theirs.

Ethan's hands curled into fists, his knuckles white as he fought the urge to scream. He had seen death before—he had lost comrades in the heat of battle—but this was different. This was Rico.

"I'm so sorry," Rae whispered, her hand tightening on his shoulder. "I'm so, so sorry."

Ethan couldn't respond. His throat was too tight, the weight of his sorrow too heavy. He could only sit there, staring at the empty horizon, the sound of the waves mingling with the fading echoes of the explosion.

The boat cut through the water, leaving behind the burning wreckage of the firefight, but Ethan's heart was still there, on that blood-soaked beach, with the body of his old friend.

"Rico..." he whispered again, his voice breaking. "I'm sorry."

As the boat sped away from the chaos, a heavy silence descended upon the deck. The sound of the ocean and the distant echo of the explosion were all that remained. Miriam sat huddled in a corner beside Eric, her face pale and streaked with tears. Her trembling hands covered her mouth as she stared blankly at the dark horizon, her mind refusing to accept what had just happened. Rico—the man she had quietly loved—was gone. Her sobs were quiet, but the depth of her grief was palpable, rippling through the team like a shockwave.

Jag, cradling his injured arm, slumped against the side of the boat, his face twisted in pain—not just from the physical wound, but from the loss of his oldest friend. He clenched his jaw, unable to meet anyone's gaze, his emotions too raw to surface. Rico had also been like a brother to him, they were a band of brothers, and the emptiness left behind felt like a chasm that could never be filled.

Marcus sat on the opposite side, his head in his hands. His body shook with anger and guilt. He had fought alongside Rico countless times, and to see him sacrifice himself like that—for them—was a wound deeper than any he'd ever suffered in battle. He lifted his head, staring at Ethan with hollow eyes. "He didn't have to do that," Marcus cried, his voice thick with sorrow. "He didn't..."

Ethan felt the weight of their collective grief pressing down on him. He wanted to say something—to tell them that Rico had died a hero, that he had done what he believed was right—but the words wouldn't come. All he could do was cry, his heart shattering under the unbearable truth.

Rico was gone. And nothing would ever be the same.

The ocean stretched out before them, vast and endless, but all Ethan could feel was the crushing loss that threatened to drown him in its depths.