IF Eden's learned anything on the trudge for El Dorado, it's that she hates hiking.

She isn't sure how long her, John B., Sarah, and Big John have been walking through, but she knows it's been a while. For forever, all the Bexley has seen is vines and jungle. Her Converse are dirty with wet mud, and she's brushed past more leaves than she can count.

Her skin is beaded with sweat, her chest rising and falling heavily as she pushes herself forward—her button-down had been unbuttoned hours ago. Her hair sat in a damp ponytail atop her scalp, droopy with sweat. Her knees ache with every step, the incline making her legs scream in protest. Every rock, every root, every uneven patch of ground feels like a personal attack.

And to make matters worse?

Big John is still barking orders every five seconds.

"Come on, kids! Pick it up! I don't got time to waste!"

It's the same repetitive orders over, and over, and over again. Eden grew sick of it a few hours ago, but it's not like Big John cares about her feelings at the moment. The Bexley does her best to hold her tongue, instead suppressing her anger to sharp and exhausted exhales.

She isn't even sure how Big John is moving so fast. Being in the front of the line, he's managed to scale the rough terrain faster than all three teenagers.

Either way, the Pogues keep traveling up the mountain. Uphill, uphill, uphill. The further they go up, the steeper it gets, and it gets steep. Knees start to ache under the weight of bodies, ankles straining to keep pushing forward. Shins burn, and lungs beg for air as the pressure starts to decrease. The Bexley pushes past the pain, past the lightheartedness and keeps going. It's all they can do, now.

Big John still takes front and center, barely making a sound of struggle as he climbs upward. It pisses Eden off more than it should—he's pushing sixty, and somehow his lips sit sealed. Yet her, seventeen and used to running for her life, is straining her ass off to take a single step more? Her cardio should be better than it is.

"Come on!" Big John beckons, for the hundredth time. He's barely looked back, unaware of the struggle the three teens are facing against the humidity and incline.

Eden sharply exhales. "Jesus Christ, how is he still going—"

There's a sharp stumble beside her.

John B. missteps, his foot catching on something, and before Eden can move, he crashes right into her.

"Shit—John B.!" Eden yelps, her arms flailing as she fights to keep her balance. Her Converse skids against the dirt, her ankle twisting slightly, and for a brief moment, she thinks they're both about to eat shit all the way down this damn mountain.

Sarah lurches forward, placing her hands on her boyfriend's side to steady him. "Hey—are you good?"

"Yeah," John B. breathes, unsteady.

Eden straightens, cringing. She twinging in her ankle goes away in a few minutes. She whips her head around to deadpan at her brother. "Seriously?"

"I'm sorry—I tripped, Eden." the Routledge defends, straightening. He matches her look.
"What? Am I not allowed to make a human error?"

"Not if you almost fucking kill me while doing it." the Bexley retorts, before reaching out and grabbing the stick he'd picked up along the way. "Give me that."

The Routledge immediately whines, "What—no! Eden, you know I have terrible footing—"

"No shit! You just fucking tripped on air—"

"Let's get a move on!"

All three teens look up at Big John at his call.

"Your son just ate shit, by the way!" the Bexley calls out to the older man, bitterly pressing the walking stick into the ground. She watches as Big John pursues upward, not seeming to care about her words. "Oh, you don't care? Cool!"

No reply.

John B. pulls the Cameron up next to him, but his eyes are locked on his father. They'd been walking for ages. A five minute break couldn't hurt, right? "Hey, Pop. How about we take a breather, you know?"

Apparently it could because Big John snips, "How about not? Come on, boy. Ya'll are slowing me down. We're losing light."

John B. turns to the two girls. "I can't take this anymore."

"It's the only shot we got, come on!"

That seems to be the final straw for John B, because in seconds, the younger Routledge drops his girlfriends hand and brushes past his girlfriend to pace up to his father. He makes it up to the man, who surprisingly halts.

"Hey—hey!" John B. echoes, "For thirty seconds, can you stop being an asshole?"

John B. has idolized Big John as long as Eden has known him. He sought his father's attention, got invested in the same treasure hunts just to make him proud, and spoke his name in only good words, even when it was clear Big John was the problem—the Bexley had witnessed it days ago, when John B. chose to be an asshole to her and the others for the sake of keeping his father satisfied. So, she's surprised to hear him refer to the man as an asshole, and definitely so to hear him say it to the older man's face.

Eden can't hear anymore of what the two men discuss. Neither does Sarah. John B, however, isn't as lucky as them.

"Thirty seconds? I've been on this trail my whole life, boy, and we are on the cusp." Big John grits out, rough and insistent. "And I got Ward Cameron, who got to kill me, and Isla Bexley, nipping at my heels. Their daughters spying on me."

Is he serious?

Brows raised in disbelief, John B. jabs a finger at the two girls standing below. "You think they're spying on you?" He tilts his head, unimpressed. "Eden had a panic attack when she saw Isla—you really think she's working for her? Really, Dad?"

"Are you really so sure about her? About either of them?" Big John retorts, eyes locked on his son. "Sarah? She's a Cameron. That whole family is trust-challenged, and you know that."

John B. hums, "Mm."

"And you don't know Bexley's like I do, Bird." The elder states, like he has some upper hand in his son's relationships. Like his words will make John B. realize how fucked up his friends are. "Isla, she plays both sides, gets in your head, makes you trust her just long enough to screw you over when it counts—and you're gonna trust the girl raised by her? Who grew up with that manipulation?"

John B. stands there, eyes wide in disbelief as Big John goes on, words heavy with judgment. "You do know that's Eden you're talking about, right?" His voice is rough with frustration, something raw edging into it. "The one you trusted until now, suddenly? She's the one who took care of me when you were gone, Dad. She kept me grounded when you weren't here—and now you're talking about her like she's some kind of villain?"

Big John's jaw tightens, his grip on his bag tightening as his eyes lock with his son's. The tension between them is thick, the kind that makes the air feel like it's about to crack.

"Yeah, I trusted her. Back then." Big John admits, like his care for the Bexley beforehand had meant nothing. "But that doesn't mean I'm blind to everything else. She's still a Bexley. And there's always been something off about her, son. Always something you've ignored because she's been your friend."

John B. grits his teeth, his fists clenching at his sides. "So, what? You're saying she's just like her mother? That everything she's done for me—everything she's done for you—doesn't count?" He stares at his father like he's someone he used to know. "You don't think she'd do the same for you? Because she would. She has. She sees you like a father-figure, Dad. And you're taking about her like this?"

"Look, all I'm saying is, you can stay back here and babysit your girlfriend. Make bracelets with Eden to keep her busy. It's your choice." Big John pats his son on the shoulder, using him as leverage to keep climbing. "I'll see you at the top."

Big John moves uphill again. John B. looks back down at the two girls.

Eden can feel her pulse hammering in her ears as she meets John B.'s gaze. She didn't hear what was said, really, but she knows it was about her and Sarah. Again. She can see it in the way the Routledge is staring at them.

The Routledge thinks about his father's words for a moment. Them or the gold.

El Dorado would give him a thrill, sure. It's what him and his friends have been working towards, almost-dying towards. Finding that treasure would give them a closure like no other, and maybe a little bit of gold in their pockets. There was no doubt that this hunt was important to John B.

But, the Pogues were his real gold. Last time his father made him chose between his friends or the gold, he'd chosen wrong. But John B. knew, now. He knew that picking them, picking Eden and Sarah was the right choice, because Big John was wrong. Eden and Sarah weren't spies, or loyal to their parents. They weren't copies of their bloodline. They were both the complete opposite of what they were born to be, really.

So, the Routledge stays in place. Waits for his friends.

Sarah trudges forward first, and John B. grabs a hold of her hand to help her climb through the tall grass. The blonde's clammy palm is clasped to Eden's, who follows suite and moves her aching knees up, up, up.

"Sorry."

"Watch your foot."

"Sorry." Sarah repeats, squinting against the high-sitting sun. "Cameron's are really a hiking family, if I'm being honest."

John B. just stares up at his dad, who keeps walking. "Sorry about him. He gets a little obsessive over the treasure."

Eden puts one hand on her hip, the other brushing strands of fallen hair out of her face. "Oh, that's news."

A smile graces Sarah's face, and she chuckles, "And you don't?"

"Stop," the Routledge chastises, though he can't help but smile.

Eden offers a small smile at the couple, before brushing ahead. Her stick makes contact with the ground, providing a small leverage to help her continue up the hill. The Routledge and Cameron follow behind her, hands interlinked.

Unlike his statement to continue on without them, Big John is standing at the top of the mountain when Eden gets there. It's covered in tall grass, colored a luscious green. The Bexley's eyes widen at the breathtaking view that sits at the top of the mountain—acres of rain forest, spanning out as far as the eye can see. A vast jungle of green, sitting under a vibrantly blue sky. Peaks of mountains sat hidden behind layers of fluffy clouds.

Eden had seen pretty, but his was simply beautiful.

"Whoo-hoo!" Big John chuckles, staring into the distance. He ushers Eden closer, and beckons the other two to hurry up. "Come on, come on, come on. Take a look at this."

Making her way towards the man, Sarah pants. "Sorry. I had to catch my breath."

"Catch it when you get here. Take a look at that." the elder Routledge points out to the view, chuckling again. "Take a look at that."

"Wow."

Eden nods, catching her own breath. "I have to admit, that is pretty fuckin' cool."

"We did it, boy." Big John looks right past the two girls, instead locking eyes with his son. "There she blows. Solana."

John B. looks at his father, but his eyes trail back down to the blonde beside him. Sarah's smiling up at him, all teeth, sun reflecting off her golden locks. He nudges his elbow against her's, a soft grin on his lips.

"Come on." Big John barely gives the couple a moment, before continuing to walk. "Let's keep trucking." He chuckles, "At least it's downhill, huh?"

Sarah is quick to follow after Big John, a little more at ease than before.

Eden and John B. are left standing there, still taking in the view.

The Routledge adjusts his bag straps, staring out into what's to come. The Bexley stays at his side. They stand there for a moment, neither of them daring to speak. The wind brushes against them, carrying the scent of damp earth and jungle air.

Then, Eden tilts her head up towards with, a smile playing on her lips. "We did it, huh?"

"Guess so." John B. exhales, nodding his head. His lips purse, as if he's thinking of something, before he looks down at the girl standing beside him. "Hey,"

Eden lifts her chin slightly, her brows raising in curiosity. "Hey, what?"

His lips twitch, like he's trying to figure out how to say what he's thinking. "Just... thanks."

"For what?"

John B. shrugs, shifting his weight between his feet. "For everything. For, I don't know, just... being there." His voice softens. "When my dad was gone, when things got crazy, for when we got involved in all this shit, and kept digging ourselves deeper. You didn't have to stay, but you did. And I—I know I haven't always been the easiest person to deal with, but... I wouldn't have made it here without you."

For a moment, Eden just soaks it in.

Her mother never believed her friendship with the Pogues. She never believed they wanted her for her. No one did. Everyone always assumed they kept her around because she had money, because she was a Bexley, because it was convenient. Because she was easy. Not because they actually liked her. Not because they wanted her.

But here it was.

John B., standing beside her at the top of the world, telling her he wouldn't have made it here without her. Thanking her for being there—for staying.

Eden exhales before shrugging like it's nothing. "You gave me a family. This is nothing."

John B. scoffs lightly, shaking his head, like she's missing the point entirely. "I'm serious." He looks at her then, really looks at her. "I appreciate you. Always have."

Something warm settles in her chest.

The Routledge slings his arm over her shoulders, and the Bexley leans into him instinctively. She doesn't care that he's sweaty—she is too. At this moment, none of it matters. It feels comfortable, like nothing is forced. It feels like family.

It's just her and her brother. Like it's always been.

"Alright," John B. squeezes her shoulder, glancing to where his father and girlfriend had walked off to. "Before the old man loses his mind again."

Eden chuckles, handing the stick back to the Routledge. "Race you."

John B. groans. "Oh, hell no, I just got done hiking—"

But Eden's already jogging ahead, laughing as she goes, and John B. sighs before running after her.

The group was still hiking long into the night.

Eden isn't sure which she preferred. It had been dreadful, hiking uphill with the sun beating down onto her skin, sweat everywhere. Night was much cooler, and they were luckily going down, but now it was pitch black. The Bexley couldn't see a foot ahead of her without her flashlight, which wasn't appreciated in the slightest.

Creatures hooted and chirped, hidden away in the darkened scenery. The group walked in utter silence now, almost worried they'd scare an animal and that was the last thing they needed. Instead, they walked one after the other, flashlights scanning over the perimeter.

"Do you see that?" Big John leads the way, pointing his light ahead. "Whoa."

Eden squints to watch as they come across a large stone pillar. The older man brushes a hand against it as he passes, as if in disbelief. The remaining teens file up to get a look at it themselves,

"Oh my God. It's just as the legend predicted it." Big John breathes, growing more excited. This was it—what he had been working towards his whole life. "See these four columns here?" The teens look at the other columns, that stand near. "Mark the cardinal directions."

Eden shines her light on each as she continues to walk.

"And there it is." Big John staggers forward, towards a round rock table sitting in the middle of the four pillars. "The temalacatl."

John B. shines his light on the table. "I'll be damned."

"I guess Singh wasn't entirely crazy." Eden crouches down in front of the temalacatl, hands greedily hovering over the engraved sigils and symbols.

"Oh my." the elder Routledge does the same as the Bexley, setting his hands down on the textured surface. He runs his finger pads straight across it, as if trying to make sure he isn't dreaming. "I can't believe it. Oh, it's as real as the day, boy."

Sarah comes over to Eden's side, gently feeling the temalacatl. She shines her flashlight down onto the engravings, as if she can translate them. Her boyfriend stands to the side, looking at his father with both disbelief and amazement.

"A thousand years of astronomy, mathematics is all contained, in this." Big John continues, marveling. "This proves that the Kalinago were every bit the equal to the Mayans. This....this is gonna rewrite everything."

The Royal Merchant and the cross suddenly felt irrelevant to Eden. They didn't compare to this—not in the slightest.

She was about to help find El-fuckin-Dorado.

Staring down at the temalacatl, the Bexley's eyes brighten as she gazes at a flattened square in the center of the table. Quickly, she brushes her fingers against it, staring at Big John for confirmation, "Hey, is this...."

Big John's eyes brighten, more than Eden's ever seen. "That's where she goes!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," John B. urges, "Get the thing out—get the gnomon out, c'mon."

The older man pulls the idol from his bag, muttering nonsense underneath his breath. He clutches the gnomon for a moment, hovering it over the temalacatl, "Look at this—this is it. This is the moment, boy."

"Nice and easy, nice and easy—"

"That's right. Boy, look at this."

He sets it down on the pedestal.

"Please, please, please."

The gnomon shifts into place. Perfectly.

Big John let's out a jolly chuckle, a boyish joy coming into his eyes. "Oh my God."

Eden thinks it's a little anticlimactic.

The little that did happen, though, means a lot to Big John as he returns to his crazed and urgent attitude. "Yo, listen up—listen up. When the moon hits its zenith, that's when the action starts. Okay, John B, I want you on translation. Eden, remember the exact order. And Sarah? Gather up some mud, and mark the glyph so we know what to translate." He glances at all three, "You got it?"

Sarah nods, already on the ground. "Got it."

"Remembering, yeah." The Bexley turns to her best friend, ready to assist him.

Big John urges, "Be quick about it, okay?"

"Hey, hey." John B. doesn't like the way his friends are being rushed, and stares soft but authoritative at his father. "Aye, aye, captain. Relax."

"We only got one shot at this. I don't want any back talk, okay?"

John B. backs down. "Okay, okay."

For once, Eden keeps her mouth shut. She feels inclined to listen to the older man, given he did have a point. They had a time schedule to follow, and couldn't afford to miss their chance—she didn't hike all the way up to come back down empty headed.

The trio stands at the ready, waiting for a signal to start. John B. clenches the translation key in his grip, hard. Eden rolls her flashlight over her palms, trying to clear her mind. Sarah breathes in and out, tense.

Then, the top of the gnomon starts to glow.

The moonlight shines down, passing right through the trees. It hits the top of the idol, which reflects in an iridescent glow. When the moon hits its zenith.

"Whoa," John B. slightly steps back, "Guys, guys, guys—"

Eden's eyes don't leave the gnomon. "Yeah, we see it, dipshit."

"This is it." Big John breathes, the top of the gnomon glowing significantly brighter. "It's actually working. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my—"

One of the sigils starts to shine, activated by the moon.

Suddenly it's Eden's turn, "Oh wow—guys!"

This shouldn't be real. Not at all. But, here Eden stands, in front of glowing rocks that'll show her how to find something that should be a myth.

John B. puts a hand on his father's shoulder, "Oh, Dad."

"Mark it! Mark it, hurry! Hurry!" Big John bellows.

Sarah dips her finger into the bowl of mud she'd scooped, dabbing her finger onto the glowing sigil.

Big John questions, "What's that?"

"That is the one that looks like a boot." John B.'s eyes dart between the gnomon and the translation sheet in his hand.

"Akish!"

"Brave traveler, brave traveler—"

"Eden, mark it down!"

Before the Bexley can react, the elder Routledge chucks a notebook at her. She catches it, barely able to spot the pencil that flies at her face next. Urgently, Eden does as she was asked and scribbles down the word 'brave traveler'. Her hand writing looks horrible, but she doesn't think it matters now.

Another sigil glows. The process repeats itself.

"Oh, oh!" Sarah marks it, "This one!"

John B. looks down, "Yeah, that one has the three nubs on it. That is....wisdom! Wisdom, Ed'."

Eden writes the word 'wisdom' down next to her previous phrase, "Okay, brave traveler, wisdom..."

"Pay close attention. We can't afford to muck this up." Big John glances between the three teens as they hurriedly work. "If they shine, mark it. Keep translating."

"Okay, we got it, we got it, we got it." John B. reassures, another sigil shining as he speaks. A second shine follows.

Big John jabs his finger at the gnomon. "There's two! There's two more there!"

Sarah slowly marks both, "This is..."

"Wealth. And....and..." The Routledge stammers, trying to translate in the dim lighting.

Big John insists, "No mistakes. Come on, hurry up—"

"Wealth and what, John?" Eden doesn't mean to rush her friend, but she doesn't feel like undergoing Big John's wrath if they fumble.

"Earth!" John B. exclaims, "Earth."

"Wealth and earth. Okay." The Bexley writes down the remaining two words, eyes scanning over all four as she reads off, "Brave traveler, wisdom, wealth, and earth. Is that anything yet?"

"I think I have that first one sorted." Big John reveals, ordering the four words around in his head to create a mantra. "'Brave traveler, if you have wisdom, I'll reveal the wealth of the earth.' "

John B. repeats, "Wealth of the earth."

"Wealth of the earth!" The father cheers, "That's....that's El Dorado!"

The group has little time to celebrate the first sentence as the temalacatl itself starts to glow, sigil by sigil.

"It's glowing again!" Eden warns, like it isn't obvious.

"Something's happening to the stone!" Big John exclaims, "Look, it's coming off the gnomon! Oh my God, look—"

"Let's see, uh...." Sarah dabs the sigil, looking at the translation sheet. "Tongue?"

Eden repeats, "Tongue?"

John B. furrows his brows, "A horn thing! That is..."

"What is this? Come on, hurry up!" Big John stresses.

"Patience. It's patience."

"Patience, okay!" Eden writes, adrenaline pumping through her veins.

"Patience." Big John repeats, turning towards the teens like he's having a revelation. He outstretches a hand. "Patience."

John B. deadpans, "Patience."

It's silent for a few seconds, the sigil pausing. Then, the chaos continues, and another glow shines through the rain forest.

"Whoa, whoa!"

"There, there!"

"Look—that's wisdom again! That's wisdom!"

"Uh-huh, and that's a tongue!"

"Darkness, darkness. That—that one's darkness."

Eden tries her best to write down all the words in the notebook in order, which becomes difficult as all three beside her start stammering and calling out random words all at once, "Wisdom, darkness....what the fuck is tongue? Is tongue real?"

"Seeker, Eden!" Sarah replies, opposite of the Bexley's question. "Add seeker."

John B. spots a new sigil, "Hey, hey—Sarah, what is hand? What is hand?"

Sarah shines her light down onto the translation key. The group watches as she frowns. "I don't know. I—I don't see it on here."

"Okay, well, it has to be." Eden states, staring at the translation key. It has to be right. "Somewhere. Maybe we're reading the sigil wrong?"

"No, it's hand." the Cameron murmurs softly.

"Oh, I know this. Hand....hand..." Big John squeezes his eyes shut, and the three teens look to him as his mind works a million miles an hour. "Hand means home."

Sarah questions, "Home?"

Eden tilts her head, writing it down. "I mean, that's kinda sweet, I guess."

"It's showing us the direction to El Dorado." The elder man whispers, crazed. He stares at the kids, giving a chuckle, before running ahead and staring out. "It's showing us the direction to El Dorado!"

As he speaks, thunder strikes.

Big John scrambles back to the temalacatl, muttering nonsense under his breath. His eyes are darting around, manically, almost. The three teens around him cautiously watch as he works—they know better than to mess with him right now, but they're curious. A little scared, too.

"What do we got, old man?" John B. ponders, most willing to interrupt his father's moment.

"I...." The elder Routledge steps forward and takes the notebook from the Bexley's hands, taking a quick scan of the words written down to double check himself. "I have no tongue, but I'm always speaking."

Innocently, Sarah asks, "What does it mean?"

"I.."

The Routledge stops, gazing over his glasses at the Cameron. He simply stares. And then, he shifts his gaze over to Eden, who's standing near his boy, looking just as hard as her. His eyes say more than he even has too.

Eden knows he's hiding something. Because she's there—because Sarah is.

The silence hangs heavy. John B. tries to get his father to talk, "Dad, just spit it out."

Big John clears his throat. Awkwardly. He sputters, "I'm—I'm....I'm still working it out."

Then, without word, he discards the notebook and puts it in his pocket. The excitement he'd previously held about the sigils and sentences is gone, and now, all the man can do is send skittish looks to his son. Only to his son.

John B. picks up his behavior, "Dad, what are you doing?"

"I've got all the notes. I.....We know which way we're going." Big John stammers for something to say, for a reason. "It's...."

If Eden wasn't sick of his bullshit before, she certainly is now.

Now, when they're so close to finding El Dorado, yet, Big John won't reveal the final clue because of who her and Sarah were born too—because of the taint in their blood. Now, when Isla and Ward shouldn't even matter anymore, because the Bexley and Cameron have proved their in for it all, yet Big John can't get over his little grudge for a last name.

Eden isn't her mother. She's long sick of people thinking she is.

"It's because we're here." Eden can't help herself as she speaks up, staring hard at the older man. Sarah's mouth falls agape, but there's a knowing in her face. A sick knowing. "This is about me and Sarah, isn't it? About the stupid fucking idea you can't get out of your head—that we're just copies of our parents." Her voice is laced with frustration, a tired bitterness seeping into her tone. "That no matter what we do, how hard we prove ourselves, we're just going to turn into them, here and now."

Big John doesn't deny it.

"Big John, I am not my father. And I am not my brother." Sarah steps forward, the Bexley giving her the confidence to finally stand up to the Routledge. "Eden is far from her mother. You know this." Her eyes soften, pleadingly. "You can trust us."

Silence.

"What does it say?" John B. firmly asks, eyeing down his father. The man doesn't meet his son's gaze. "Hey, look at me. We all just went through hell and back to get here. Tell me what it says."

Silence.

Eden feels rain start to wet her hair, her neck, her clothes. She doesn't care though—not when there's anger, bubbling underneath her.

"Big John, you know my mother—you fucking know what I deal with every time I walk into my house." the Bexley begins, anger clawing at her throat. She can feel tears prickle at the corners of her eyes, too, odd enough. "Are you really trying to tell me that you think I'm going to pick her over you? You've known me since I was six—you know how much I fucking hate her!"

Silence.

Eden feels hurt, to say the least. She doesn't know if tears are falling, or if it's just the rain.

"This is what we're doing, huh?" John B. snaps, eyes hard with anger. This was it. He's sick of being used, of listening to everything Big John said like he was some God.

Big John had already led him away from what truly mattered once. He wasn't going to let it happen again. This was his girlfriend, his sister. More important than any fucking gold hunt.

"Just gonna use us?" John B. spits out, letting his emotions take over. "Just gonna pull us in and push us out, just like you did with mom, just like you did with me—and look! Now you're doing it to Sarah. To Eden."

Lowly, Sarah murmurs, "John B, stop."

"No! Tell us what it is!" the younger Routledge cries out to his father, a man who had become nothing more than a ghost of who he used to be. He used to see an idol when he looked at Big John, but now all he can see is an ashamed and obsessed maniac. "What does it say, Dad! What does it say!"

"Yes, John!"

Eden feels her chest tighten. She knows that voice—it's the one that sounded just as crazed as Big John, explaining El Dorado.

The Bexley snaps her neck up to see Singh standing above them. His figure should be hard to see in the dark with the rain pouring down, but Eden sees him clearer than ever. Even more clearly, does she see the pistol in his grasp, aimed directly at them.

"What does it say?" Singh bellows. The tension between the Pogues drops suddenly, and the four all clump together. "Huh? Tell us all, John. What is the secret of the gnomon?!"

Big John's hand hovers over his pocket, and he pulls out a gun. If Singh is here, his men can't be far.

"Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah." Singh raises his weapon higher as he spots the one in the man's hand. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, you know, John. I have you surrounded. You'd do best to toss over your gun, now."

His voice echoes against the rain. Eden didn't miss the sound of it.

Singh's words prove true as different men holding guns appear at every possible opening, cornering the Pogues' around the temalacatl."

"Careful now, Mr. Routledge. Careful." Singh laughs, "Very good. Very good!"

Water clogs Eden's pours and clumps over her lashes. If she couldn't see then, she certainly can't now with the downpour up ahead. All she knows is that there's a gun planted right up to Big John's cheek, and three more pointed at her and her friends, less threatening but still there.

"Ward was gonna send up a flare to warn us?" Big John grits out, "Yeah, sure."

The recollection causes Sarah to cry out, "Hey, what did you do with my father!?"

Eden swallows thickly. If something happened to Ward....

She doesn't care what they did with Isla. She really doesn't. At least, she tells herself that. But the words still slip out.

"And Isla?" Eden echoes out against the rain.

Singh's gaze flicks to her, a slow, amused smile spreading across his face. "Ah. It's nice to see you again, Miss Bexley."

Eden stiffens at the sound of her name in his mouth, "I'm not asking again. What did you do with our parents?"

A new voice. "Nothing!"

All four Pogues look to Singh's side to watch as a new figure approaches, drenched in rain.

"I'm right here, Sarah!" Ward appears first, a bucket hat atop his head deflecting the rain. "I'm okay! We're okay!"

We're. Eden clenches her jaw so tight, it aches.

Isla appears next, looking less than pleased to be crossing over terrain in the pouring rain. Eden's never seen her mother look so out of place—there's mascara smudged on her eyes, and her hair is matted with the water.

"Dad?" Sarah sniffles, the same way she'd said back on the boardwalk, moments before he blew up. For a moment, the anger within the Cameron simmers down, and she retreats back to a pleading daughter, wanting nothing more than for her daddy to make the right choice. "Dad, what did you do!"

She steps forward. So do the men with guns, barrels shoving towards her.

"Sarah—" Eden reaches out to clasp the Cameron's arm, a sound leaving the back of her throat as the guns all swing towards her.

Breathe in, breathe out.

"He made a deal, Sarah." Isla states, glancing between the guns pointed at her daughter, and the girls themselves. Her words are firm, calculated. "We had too. It's for your girls' safety."

Sarah cries, "A deal?"

"Yes." Ward admits himself, sounding on the verge of tears. "I did a favor for Mr. Singh, and in return he's gonna give me all I want, which is for you to be safe—"

"You think this is a favor?!"

"I want you safe!" Ward roars, turning towards Singh, "Isn't that right, Mr. Singh?"

"Mr. Cameron is correct. When we're finished, you can go with your father. Safe and sound." Singh glances at Sarah, and while his words aren't threatening, his tone says otherwise. The gun is still clenched in his hands as he gazes back at Big John. "And you too can live, you know, John, if you just give me what I want! The way to El Dorado!"

The man's hoarse yell echoes. Rain patterns against matted leaf and plant. The way to El Dorado isn't revealed.

"Sorry, Carlos." Big John calls out, gruff. He seems rather unaffected by the guns pointed at his head, unlike the teenagers. "I can't do it. And you ain't gonna kill me. 'Cause I got the treasure." He brings a finger to his temple, opposite of the weapon. "It's right up here."

"John, John, John, John, John," That's not what Singh wants to hear. It seems to be the final straw for him, really. "You know what the Guajiro king did to the slaves that mined El Dorado? He had them executed, so they could never reveal the secret location, and he did it here, you know, on the Stone of Solana. And I think it's important, very important, that we honor tradition!"

On cue, one of Singh's men steps forward. His hands grab onto John B's collar and within seconds, the Routledge has a gun right to his temple. Another man steps away from Sarah, and aims his weapon at the teenager's face.

Eden's breath hitches. They're gonna fucking kill him.

"What does it say?!" Singh presses, growing more and more agitated.

Silence.

"Tell him." John B. whispers. His face had been stoic, but that was before another gun was pressed to his forehead. "Please."

Silence.

Singh just laughs. Horrifyingly, so. "Make your choice, John!"

"Dad, just tell him." The gun presses harder.

Silence.

"John—Jesus, John!" Ward looks horrified himself, eyes widened. "Tell him!"

Singh seethes. His hands clench around the gun, before he lets out a crazed yell.

The gunshot splits the night like a crack of thunder.

Eden barely registers it at first—just a sharp, concussive sound that rings through her ears, drowning out the rain, the shouting, everything.

But then it hurts.

Hot, searing, blinding. It erupts in her stomach like wildfire, burrowing deep into her gut, setting every nerve ablaze. She gasps, her breath stuttering as a sickening, wet warmth spreads across her skin.

Her knees buckle.

Wet mud squelches against her knees, but the cool substance does nothing to ease the burn. Rough hands grab her before she can collapse fully, wrenching her upright. A choked whimper leaves the back of her throat. They grip her forearms tight, digging bruises into her skin as they hold her in place. She chokes on a breath.

Eden's head lolls as she holds it up. She can hear screams and gasps, muffled, albeit.

Through the haze, she registers movement. John B. lunging for her, only to get the butt of a gun slammed into his face. Sarah's sharp scream cuts through the rain, pure panic laced in her voice.

"You bastard!" Isla's voice rings out.

Eden lazily blinks up to her through the haze, watching as Ward holds her back. She's never seen her mother so lost of composure. So raw.

"What the fuck did you just do!" The elder Bexley is struggling against Ward, voice cracking ever so slightly.

"I didn't do anything, Miss Bexley." Singh replies, smoothly. His gaze flickers between the girl on her knees, and the man with the sealed lips. "Your friend here, did."

The burn worsens. Eden's head droops downward, her fingers twitching as another miserable whine escapes her lips. She tries to breathe, but every inhale feels like knives carving into her insides.

Blood. Eden can see it as she drops her head. With no shirt, the red warmth is clear on her tanned skin. It mixes with the rain, dripping down her skin and through her jeans. The wound itself burns for assistance, stinging as rain falls against exposed flesh.

Gasp. Shudder.

That's the sound that rattles through her as she tries to breathe. A horrid sound, really. Her fingers twitch, aching to grab something, to ground herself, but she can't feel them anymore. Can't feel her hands, her legs. Just the pain. The pain, and the suffocating weight crushing her from the inside out.

"I don't think you understand the urgency of my request, John." Singh keeps his gun raised at the Bexley, smiling as he watches her pain. "You can either give me what I want, or I can make the next one fatal."

Eden tries to speak, tries to say something, but all that comes out is a broken gasp, her body jerking as another wave of pain crashes over her. She coughs—a sharp, wet, sound that makes her whole body heave. Blood trails down her lips. She tilts her gaze upwards, blurry as it is, to see Big John.

And he's just standing there.

Looking at her.

Unmoved.

The old man is looking down at her, face frozen like he didn't believe Singh would actually shoot. But, his lips are sealed shut. Eden is bleeding out, and all he cares about is the goddamn treasure.

Eden's stomach twists—not from the pain, not from the bullet lodged inside her, but from the sheer, gut-wrenching betrayal that settles in her bones.

Her vision starts to darken at the edges, but the Bexley forces herself to look up at him. Say something, old man. Fucking say something.

Silence.

"Dad!" John B. is blinking between his father and his best friend, body lurching against the guard to go and help. His voice cracks, "Dad, say something! Say something!"

"You heartless bastard!" Isla screams out, looking at the Routledge with nothing but horror in her eyes. "Tell him! That's my daughter! You're going to get her killed!"

Eden has never heard silence so loud.

She sucks in a shaky breath, but it's harder now, her lungs feeling heavy. The pain is unbearable, a raw, gnawing agony that pulses with every beat of her slowing heart. She thinks there are tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, but she's too numb to really know. There's another stutter of a breath from her chest.

The rain feels heavier now, thicker. It presses down on her, drowning her, trapping her in this moment, in this pain, in the sickening, suffocating realization—

He's not going to help her. He's not going to save her.

The burning in her gut starts to match the burning that's beginning in her lungs. She needs air, but it's not coming in. Her mind is resorting to the one thing it can think of—a panic attack—but she doesn't even have the energy to do that.

God, she doesn't want to die here.

Not for a fucking treasure.

"Still?" Singh teases, tongue sliding over his top teeth. Silence. He nods to the guard standing in front of John B. "Take Miss Bexley out of her misery."

The guards holding Eden by her forearms hold her even more upright, the Bexley barely having the energy to make a sound of pain. She can hear Sarah and John B. screaming. She can't see her mother anymore—

Another gun shot echoes through the jungle.

Eden expects it all to go black.

But, no. Instead, there's a thud. A heavy body dropping to the ground in front of her.

She forces her head up, blinking against the rain and the dizziness, and through the haze, she watches as the man in front of her crumples to the ground, a fresh bullet wound tearing through his skull.

And behind him, gun raised, stance unwavering—Isla Bexley.

For a moment, all is silent.

Then, John B. initiates action, and chaos explodes around them.

The younger Routledge takes the moment of vulnerability, and elbows the guard behind him in the throat. Big John dives down for the temalacatl, shoving the gnomon inside of his bag in a mad rush.

Gunfire cracks through the air, deafening against the pounding rain. The two guards holding onto Eden let go, making a run for the Routledge's. Without their rough arms holding her, Eden immediately crumples into the mud, her body hitting the ground hard, pain exploding in her stomach at the sudden movement.

A strangled cry rips from her throat, weak and hoarse.

The world tilts dangerously around her, her vision tunneling, everything flickering between sharp and too blurry to process. The smell of blood and wet earth fills her nose, mixing with the copper tang of iron already on her tongue.

Her hands twitch against the dirt, but she can't move.

She can barely breathe.

"You promised!"

Another gunshot rings out. And then hands—cold, yet familiar—grip her arms, hauling her up.

She screams. A broken, garbled sound rips from her throat as the movement jostles her wound, agony tearing through her like a blade twisting deep. Her legs crumple beneath her, useless, but the hands don't let her fall.

"I know, I know, I know, honey." The words are firm, but soft, like they're trying to ground her, pull her back.

Isla.

Eden's vision swims as she tilts her head up, barely able to process her mother's face through the haze of pain and panic. Isla's expression is tight, eyes burning with a desperation Eden has never seen before.

She would find her mother's frantic state funny if everything didn't hurt so goddamn much.

Another gunshot.

Isla's hands wrap around her, hauling her up to her feet. Eden's figure shakes violently, her vision swimming as Isla drags her forward. Every movement sends white-hot agony splintering through her stomach, and she sobs, stumbling against her mother's grip.

A strangled, miserable noise wretches from her throat. It's wrong, high-pitched and broken. Her hands claw uselessly at Isla's arms, her head lolling forward as she gasps, gags, struggling for air that won't come.

She hates it. Hates that she's letting her mother touch her, help her, comfort her. Hates that in this moment, Isla's presence is the only thing keeping her from crumpling into the mud and never getting up.

But what choice does she have?

Then, suddenly—another set of hands.

"Eden!"

Warm hands cradle her this time, hands that remind her of home.

She barely has time to process before she's being pulled into a new grip, into someone safe.

"Hey, hey, I got you." John B's voice floats into her ear, muffled but there. He pulls her towards him, arms firm and protective. "You still with me, Ed'?"

His answer comes in a miserable moan.

"I got her!" The Routledge turns to the older woman beside him, protective. "Now get away from her! Get out of here!"

Isla doesn't let go. "No—I have her! John, you need to go!"

Gunshot.

Eden doesn't like the feeling of her body being yanked back and forth at all. A noise passes her lips—a weak, miserable, pained whimper—and both Isla and John B. freeze.

Neither let go.

But they stop arguing.

John B. exhales sharply, looking at her—really looking at her—and something in his expression breaks.

Eden is barely upright, barely conscious. Her body is trembling, eyes wide unfocused, filled with pure, animalistic panic. She's gasping—sharp, ragged, desperate. Every inhale catches in her throat like she's drowning. They don't have time to argue.

"Run!"

The Bexley and Routledge shift their grips, moving instinctively, supporting her between them. Eden's head lolls from side to side, sobs leaving her lips as her Converse slide against the wet mud. It's a weak stumble, a pathetic comparison to all the running Eden's done the last few months.

Sarah runs ahead of the two, shrieking as gunfire rings out. She leads the way for Isla and John B, who move as quickly as they can with Eden's dead weight. Big John stays back, firing his gun. It's all a blur of pain and water to the Bexley.

Every jostle sends fresh agony ripping through her, another cry falling from her lips. She can hear John B. muttering to her, his voice frantic but steady, but the words won't stick.

Then—suddenly—they're behind something. A pillar, solid and firm against their backs.

The group presses close together, chests heaving, rain soaking through their clothes. Eden sags against John B, her body trembling violently, her blood mixing with the mud beneath them. Her hands, numb more than anything, fumble against her stomach, pressing against her wound. She stifles a sob at the contact, blood splaying against her palm.

John B.'s arms tighten around her. "Stay with me, Ed'," he murmurs, voice thick. "Just—just stay with me, okay?"

Eden decides it's better not to waste her energy by replying. It's hard enough to keep herself steady on her feet.

More gunshots. Big John and Ward—who'd followed them, irritatingly enough—peek out from around their respective pillars, shooting at Singh's men. Bullets shoot back at the, inciting yelps and flinching from the hidden Pogues.

"Sarah!" Ward's voice carries in the rain. The man himself stands at the next pillar, separated but close enough. His hat covers the desperation in his eyes. "Come this way! Come with me!"

"No!" Sarah cries. Her hair is darkened and soggy, sticking to her face, as she peeks her head around to see her father. "I'm not coming with you!"

Ward grits out, "I'm your father. Now come with me before you get killed!"

Another shot is fired, barely missing Sarah.

"Damn it, Sarah, we don't have time for this! Come on!" the Cameron man cries. His gaze then shifts to his friend, "Isla! You can't stay here, either. You and Eden—if you stay, you die! Come with me! Come on!"

Eden groans, weakly shifting against John B., whose grip on her only tightens. She manages a quiet, "No."

Isla hesitates, her eyes darting from Ward to Eden, to Singh's men, to the jungle beyond them. Calculating.

"Mom, no." Eden stammers, shaking her head from side to side. She wasn't going with Ward. Her voice is nothing more than a hoarse whisper, "Mommy, no."

She can see her mother's face twitch, as if the name hurts her.

"John B. give me your gun." Sarah suddenly cuts in. Her eyes are set on her father with a dark determination. She was sick of the good guy, bad guy game.

The Routledge replies, "What?"

"Give me your gun."

With his free hand, John B. hands over the weapon in his hand, its material dotted in specs of rain. The Cameron clutches it tightly. She had to do this.

Ward has no clue of his daughter's intentions, and steps forward. "You're coming with me—"

The blonde reveals her weapon. "Back up."

"What are you doing?" John B. watches as his girlfriend lifts the gun, confused and concerned. She wouldn't, right? "Sarah—"

"I said back up." Sarah doesn't listen to her boyfriend. Her words are wobbly, but her intention is clear. Her own blood should know that.

Yet, Ward still tries to retrieve his kin—he thinks he knows her. "Put it down, Sarah. You're not gonna shoot your own—"

He doesn't.

A bullet flies into the sky with a sharp pop. Eden feels her mother flinch at the unexpected shot towards her friend.

Ward stares at his daughter, eyes widened. He looks at her like she's someone he doesn't know—which she is, truly. She isn't the innocent princess she once was; now she's rugged and worn. She knows, now.

"Ward, go." Isla speaks next, nodding at her friend. Her arms clutch her daughter—for once, she doesn't go for Ward. She stays for her family.

Ward looks at Isla. He looks at the gun. He looks at his girl—the reflection of her mother, his prized and cherished possession for all of seventeen years. Then, he turns on his heel, and flees into the night.

Sarah doesn't crack. Not like she used to.

Big John puts a hand over her gun, pulling it down and taking it from her. Gunshots fire again from the distance—Sarah's warning shot to her father had revealed his location, and Singh's men were surely on their way here.

"You're one of us now, kid." The elder Routledge gruffly states to the blonde. His empathy ends there when more gunshots ring, and he nods, "Go, I'll cover you."

"Yeah," John B. nods.

Sarah steps forward and starts leading the way. Isla and John B. follow after her, with Eden right in between them.

Eden barely feels herself being moved anymore—it's like her body isn't even hers. Every step Isla and John B. take with her should send agony rippling through her gut, but the fire burning in her stomach is distant now, dulled by something far worse: the creeping numbness taking over.

Her Converse drag through the wet earth, slipping, unable to hold even an ounce of her weight. She tries—God, she tries—but her legs won't work. She has run, fought, survived for months, but now? Now, her body won't even listen. She's so numb.

Her head lolls weakly against John B.'s shoulder, her breath rattling in her chest. It takes too much effort to lift it. Too much effort to do anything.

Her hands tingle. She hates the feeling.

John B. feels how cold she's getting against him, and glances over his shoulder at his sister. He sees her dilated pupils, the way she's starting to slump and panics, "Sarah, we need to move quicker!"

Eden doesn't remember much after that.

The second they reach a small clearing, they lay Eden onto the ground.

By that point, the Bexley is long out of it. She's somewhere in between alive and unconscious—floating. She'd stopped making sounds. Her legs were past the state of being supportive. Breathing was less of a gasp, and more so an unsteady and silent shudder. The only sign of life was the occasional flutter of her eyelids, which was barely, so. 

But, she was alive. Somehow. And that's all Sarah, John B, and Isla cared about as they laid her down on the ground. 

Eden does nothing as she's shifted. Her body just slacks, head nodding off to the side as it had against the Routledge's shoulder. Her eyes flutter ever so slightly, but that's the most she manages.

She should be screaming, writhing in pain, but she isn't.  She's just laying there, motionless, her chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. Cold. Drenched. Dying.

John B, already in a panicked state, is the first to initiate some kind of action on the wound. As soon as Eden is on the ground, his hands fumble for the bandanna around his neck. It's stained with sweat, damped with rain, but he doesn't care.

Eden's clammy. Cold. Her fingers are twitching involuntarily. Her lips are turning blue. That's what he fucking cares about. 

Quickly, the boy unfolds the worn fabric and presses it against Eden's stomach. Immediately, blood seeps through; warm, red. It's heavy contrast to the pale white the Bexley's figure is starting to become. 

"Shit—shit—" John B. stammers, voice cracking as he applies more pressure—it's not working. His hands are already slick and warm, her blood pooling beneath them, mixing with the mud.  The deeper he presses, the more it seems to spill out.

Sarah drops to her knees beside them, soaking wet, breathless.  A shaky hand brushes over Eden's forehead, moving her matted hair off of it. "She's barely breathing—we have to do something!"

"She's going into hypovolemic shock." Isla announces, coming down to her knees just like the other two teens. Her eyes dart over her daughter, trying to figure out what their best option was. 

"What even is that?!" John B. asks, voice cracking. He presses harder, but the bandanna isn't helping much, thin as it is.

Sarah snips, "Not good!"

"She'll die in less than an hour if we don't treat this in some way." Isla drops the bag around her shoulders, beginning to rifle through it quickly. "We need to stop the bleeding."

Eden's  hands twitch weakly against the ground, her fingers curling uselessly in the dirt. She tries to focus on the three, tries to stay, but her vision is gone. It's all fuzzy, dark shapes and blurred figures. Her hearing is only slightly better. 

"Isla, this isn't working!" The blood feels heavy against John B.'s hands. He's been in this position before—a few months before, in Nassau, with Sarah. Yet, somehow, it's all worse now because this is Eden. 

Isla pulls something out of her bag. "We have to get the bullet out." 

"How?" Sarah demands, tears brimming in her eyes. "There's—there's nothing out here! No hospitals, no—no anything!"

John B. looks at Isla, helpless. "What do we do, Isla?"

Isla holds up a knife. 

It's a small hunting knife—nothing large. But, it's a knife. And John B. and Sarah are quick to realize what she's signaling. 

The Routledge stares at the blade in Isla's hand, his breath catching in his throat.

"No." His voice is raw, hoarse. He shakes his head violently, his blood-slicked hands trembling over Eden's wound. "No fucking way, Isla—we can't do that here."

"We have to," Isla snaps, her voice sharp, but her hands are steady. Too steady. "If we leave the bullet in, she's as good as dead."

John B. swallows thickly, staring down at her. The bandanna pressed to her stomach is soaked through, useless now, the blood pooling faster than they can stop it. "And what if we don't?"

"It'll kill her," Isla says flatly. "Slow and painful. Sepsis will set in, her organs with shut down—"

The Routledge cuts her off. "I get the point."

He doesn't want to think about what could happen. 

Sarah still shakes her head, her soaked blonde hair sticking to her face. "She's barely conscious—she won't be able to handle that—"

"She doesn't have to handle it." The elder Bexley replies, lips thin. "She just has to survive it."

John B. looks between the two Bexley's, torn. He knows that Isla has a point, but, Eden is barely alive. She's cold. Slipping. And Isla wants to slice her open?

John B. shakes his head again, voice barely above a whisper. "She won't survive that."

"She won't survive this either," Isla snaps. "We don't have another option."

Sarah lets out a choked sob, "I—fuck, I don't know, I don't know—"

John B. presses his hands harder into Eden's stomach, feeling the warmth seep between his fingers. Her blood. Her life. 

"John B," Isla's voice cuts through the storm, through the fear. "Look at her."

He does.

Eden doesn't even look like her anymore.

She's too pale, her lips turning blue. Her face is slack, eerily still, her breathing fainter by the second. Her pupils are huge, but distant. She looks dead—so distant from the girl he knows, the girl he needs. The girl he can't afford to lose. 

This is it.

If they do nothing, she dies.

If they do this, she might die.

But might is better than definite.

So, John B. swallows the bile rising in his throat and forces himself to look up at Isla, at the blade in her hand. His voice is hollow as he states, "Do it."

Isla doesn't waste another second. Her hands move quickly, cleaning the knife off on the edge of her wet clothing.

"Hey, hey—" John B whispers softly, trembling. He leans towards the Bexley. "Eden, I need you to look at me. Please."

Her eyes barely open. They're glassy, unfocused, but still there.

"You with me?" He asks, voice hoarse. "You gotta stay with me, okay? It's gonna hurt like hell, but I need you to stay awake." He's afraid that if she blacks out fully, she won't find the energy to come back. 

She doesn't answer, of course. But she blinks, barely. And for John B, that's enough. 

"John B, Sarah," Isla calls out. She shifts her position so she's knelt right next to her daughter's wound, grip on the knife tightening. "Hold her down."

John B.'s head snaps up. "What?"

"She's going to move," Isla tells the two, voice firm. "And if she moves, she's risking a lot."

The brunette swallows hard. With hands still shaking, he takes the bandanna off of her wound, discarding it, instead shifting his hands to pin down her forearms. Sarah crawls over to the Bexley's legs, wrapping her hands around the girls' ankles so she's unable to kick.

Isla doesn't hesitate. 

John B. holds his breath. Sarah squeezes her eyes shut. The knife goes in. 

Eden snaps back to life. 

A scream rips from her throat—loud, raw. So hoarse and pained that it doesn't even sound like her. Her entire body seizes, agony flaring through her gut, overriding the numbness that had been taking her. She suddenly feels everything. 

John B. reacts fast, his hand slamming over her mouth, muffling the sound before it can carry through the jungle. He has to—they can't afford to be heard.

But that doesn't stop the sheer agony ripping through Eden's body. Her figure jerks, writhes, bucks, arches—does it all —off the ground, desperate to escape the pain. Her nails dig into the mud below. She's met with no relief. She just screams. 

John B. can feel her muffled cries against his hand. They're ragged, desperate, nothing like he's ever heard from her—no, this is pure suffering. His hands dig into her skin, trying to keep her grounded as she keeps moving. 

"I know, I know, I'm so sorry—" John B. whispers through his own tears as another cry vibrates off his palm, broken and full of pain. "I'm so sorry, Eden."

His dad did this. His own fucking father. 

Sarah squeezes her eyes shut, turning away, unable to hold back her own tears as Isla digs deeper, her hands steady despite the awful, sickening sound of blade against flesh. Her hands shake around the Bexley's kicking feet, which she struggles to keep down. 

Isla doesn't falter, though. She digs a little deeper. "I see it."

And then Isla's fingers go in.

John B. almost gags. Sarah does, turning away with a choked back sob as she drops a hand from Eden to put it over her mouth, instead. They both hear it—the sick, wet squelch as Isla digs digits into her daughter's wound, searching for the bullet.

Eden completely loses it. 

Her head jerks back, a wet, broken moan slipping from her throat. Her eyes flutter—rolling, unfocused, the whites flashing in the dim light. She trembles violently beneath him, her body reacting to the agony of foreign fingers pressing inside her, digging, searching for the bullet lodged deep in her gut.

The Routledge feels her breath shuttering, like her body can't take it anymore. He tightens his grip, his own body shaking as he holds her down, fingers digging into her clammy skin. He feels her thrashing, the raw involuntary spasms that rack her body. His hand over her mouth muffles her cries, but he feels them against his palm, wet and ragged. 

Isla grits her teeth, pressing deeper. "Got it!"

Isla's fingers grip the bullet—wet, slick with blood—and with a final wrench, she pulls it free.

The sound it makes is sickening. A wet, squelching noise that John B. knows will never leave his head. Eden jerks, her moan rising in a high, keening sob.

Isla throws the bullet aside, already grabbing for fabric, but Eden is still awake, still feeling everything—and it's too much.

Her nails claw at the dirt, weak, desperate for something to hold onto as her body still burns with a raw agony. Her eyes flutter—dazed and unfocused, still.

A weak, breathy whimper slips past her lips. "M-Mom—"

"That's it, baby—stay with me," Isla breathes. And for the first time in Eden's life, her mother's voice sounds real. Sounds desperate. Her manicured nails match the color of the blood splayed daughter's gut. "Sarah, press that bandanna to her wound."

Sarah, whose cheeks are tear-stained, grabs a hold of her boyfriend's bandanna—the one that matches the loose strand around her own neck—and sets it over Eden's stomach. Hesitantly, she presses down, inciting a cry from the Bexley.

The Cameron cringes, whispering, "I'm sorry, Eden." 

"John B, lift her?" 

As easily as possible, the Routledge moves behind his best friend, wrapping his arms under hers. He sits down, pulling the girl into his lap, elevating her to a degree. He brushes wet, matted hair from her clammy forehead. Gentle. 

Isla kneels forward, grabbing at the button down on her daughter's figure. With ease, she slides the fabric off and tears it, creating a long strip. Then, the mother wraps it around Eden's stomach, knotting it over the wound as tight as she could to create a makeshift bandage of kinds. 

Eden lets out a weak, choked sound at the pressure, her head lolling slightly against John B.'s shoulder. Her breathing hitches as Isla pulls the knot tight, sealing in the soaked bandanna and makeshift bandage.

John B. feels the way she flinches, feels the tiny, barely-there whimper that leaves her lips as she tries to curl into him, too weak to actually move.

"It's okay," He murmurs, voice low, soft, like they aren't in the middle of a fucking jungle, running for their lives. Like it's just them, like they aren't covered in blood and rain and fear. He cradles her closer, adjusting his grip so she's fully against him now, her body slack but still alive.

Isla sits back, exhaling sharply, eyes locked on the barely-conscious girl in her arms. "She's stable—for now."

Sarah nods quickly, wiping her face, hands still trembling. "So we just—what, wait?"

"No," Isla says immediately, looking up, determined. "We have to move."

John B. glances between the mother and her daughter. He knows she can't stay here—knows Singh's men could still be close. But she's barely awake; she can't run, she can barely breathe. She won't be any use to try and haul around by foot.

So, the Routledge does the first thing he can think of.

With a grunt of effort, John B. gets himself on his feet and pulls the Bexley onto his back. Sarah gets the memo and runs behind him, helping steady the Bexley, given she was too numb to move anything on her own. She wraps Eden's arms around the boys neck, hooks her limp legs around his waist. His calloused hands grip tightly onto her thighs, supporting her. 

He's carried Eden before—half-drunken stumbles back to the Chateau, where she's thrown aimlessly over his shoulder, fireman lifts into the ocean, piggy-back rides whenever—but this? This is different. 

She's completely dead weight on his back. John B. knows he'll regret this in a few hours, when the South American sun rose, and the humidity came back. When his knees start to ache from climbing uphill with her up there.

But, he doesn't put her down. 

She carried him through everything after his father disappeared. Now, it's his turn. 

"John B!"

All three stable figures whip around at the yell, watching as Big John Routledge runs in towards them. He's still clutching a pistol in one hand. His eyes dart from Isla, to his son, to the girl slumped over his boy's back.

"Jesus Christ," The elder Routledge breathes. "Is she....?"

"Alive, yeah?" Isla replies, bitterly. 

"Good." 

John B. glares at his father. He was the reason Eden got shot.

But, they don't have time for anger. 

So, the Routledge tightens his grip on Eden's legs, and keeps walking forward into the night.

mara's misc!

hey guys

yeah no this was a random choice i made at the hour of 10pm and rolled with bc why not. i felt like being petty to obx4 and giving her a wound in the same place as jj, but having her push through!!

since the last time we talked one of my cats did but here's 10,000 words for ya!!! yes, i am mentally okay. 

anywho, all of you should go read kensie's book "tourniquet" bc she just finished it and the ending goes hard. she's also like pretty cool and the reason you get jjeden in all ways but for real so yeah just do it!!!! 

hope you enjoyed <3 see you back with chapter 82