GETTING out of the cave is much quicker than working through it was. 

It's just as painful for Eden, but there's more relief sitting on her shoulders as they hike back the way they came. Now they knew the hidden mechanisms, the many openings, the fact that leaping was possible. There was nothing stopping them from getting back to the cave of water they started in and diving right back to where Big John and Isla were waiting for them.

From there, Eden isn't sure what they'll do. Hopefully, they'll hike back down to where they came from—dreadfully, so. Find a way to contact authorities, make the cave a protected landmark, do a few news interviews before being sent home. She's sure the fame will only grow by the time they're back in the Outer Banks.

Outside of all that, Eden hopes she finds the rest of the Pogues. She can't wait to show JJ the gold, explain to Kiara all that happened at Kitty Hawk, tell Pope he was right about the glyphs, hear Cleo's praise when she see's the Bexley survived her shot-wound. Can't wait to hug them all. Smell home. Fly home rich with them all. 

The flare is waterproof, and guides them in the murky waters when the reach it. Swimming is just as difficult for Eden, but the fact that she found El Dorado makes it much easier—as does the gold in her best friends bag.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!"

Eden pushes up to the surface, water rippling around her in a splash. Barely does the Bexley have time to process what's happening before Sarah is tightly grabbing onto her hand with a gasp. 

Water stinging her eyes, the Bexley blinks forward to see Singh standing a few feet in front of them on the rocky shore. His arm is outstretched, and in his grasp is a gun. Aimed straight for them. 

"Easy now, young Routledge, easy!" Singh calls out. He's not going easy on them after the stunt they pulled the prior night. Not at all. "Go for a little swim, did you? Step out of the water and put your hands up, all of you. Now!"

With the gun staring them down, the trio has no choice but to follow Singh's orders. John B. starts wading forward, hands raising. Sarah and Eden drop hands, following in a hesitant manner. The Bexley can feel her hands lightly shaking. She glances around the cave—she sees no sign of Big John or her mother.

"Easy now. Very good."

The three teens make it to the shore, looking like children caught doing something bad—tails between legs, like dogs. 

"Drop the flare." Singh pushes his gun closer. "Drop it!"

John B. crouches, slow and steady, and sets down the flare. "I'm gonna put it down." 

"Very good." There's no smile on Singh's face, even at the pleased commentary. Instead he eyes the bag hanging over John B's shoulder, "Looks like you're carrying a load there, young Routledge. You want to tell me about it?" Silence from the younger boy. "What is in the bag. Show me what's in the bag." 

Singh's eyes gleam when John B. doesn't answer once more. He shifts his weight slightly, and in one swift motion, moves the barrel of the gun—right to Eden. He knows where it hurts, now. 

Eden's body tenses like it's wired to remember the searing pain from the night before. However, she tries her best to stay collected—still, though, her hands shake. 

"Okay, okay, okay—" The bag suddenly feels too heavy on John B.'s shoulder. Tugging it off, he offers it out to Singh—he's not his father, he won't let Eden get shot. "Keep it right here." 

The gun doesn't move. Eden shakily exhales.

"Look. Hey—" John B. is more forceful now, flipping the bag so it's fully exposed to Singh. The man turns, and the gun goes with him. "You want it? There you go."

It's a less threatening way to say: 'Get the gun off my fucking sister'. 

His words work to a degree. Singh cocks the gun away from Eden, but instead moves it to the Routledge himself. With his free hand, the man pulls out a nugget of gold almost bigger than his palm. 

Eden wishes she never got so excited over the gold—after all, the Pogues didn't have a winning streak. Always, did someone come and take what they found, steal what they rightfully had. 

Singh examines the gold. Chuckles. Glances around the cave.

"So, you found El Dorado at last. I know I was right to keep you alive, you know." It's clear Singh is no longer speaking to the teens, rather the old man hiding somewhere in the cave. "But unfortunately for your son, the celebration will be short lived."

Singh puts the muzzle right over John B's heart. 

Eden doesn't like that. Her body tenses because she knows, after last night, Singh isn't joking. The Bexley only survived because of the escape they'd managed to make. 

"Hey!" She snaps, before she can help herself. Eden's voice cracks with the weight of everything—fear, pain, exhaustion, desperation. "We gave you the gold! Isn't that what you wanted?"

Singh doesn't look at her right away. He keeps the muzzle aimed, just a beat longer than necessary, just long enough to watch John B's jaw tighten, his chest still. Then he glances down to her. More specifically, the red-stained wrap around her middle, holding her together. 

 "It is nice to see you alive, Miss Bexley, you know." Singh ticks. He still looks ready to pull the trigger, like it was never about the treasure to begin with. "You did make quite the dramatic exit last night."

The Bexley swallows, ignoring the elder man's words. "Put the gun down."

"You have three seconds to come out before I start firing." Singh ignores her words in return. He turns the safety off the weapon with a sharp click. "One."

Sarah reaches out to grab her boyfriends hand, tears filling her lash line. Eden squeezes the girl's other hand, which is still clasped in her own. Her mind is a rush of thoughts—is she about to watch her brother get shot? Like Peterkin? Watch him die minutes after they were on top of the world? 

"Two." 

John B's face is set, jaw clenched. He clutches his girlfriend's hand hard. 

"I'm here, Singh. Over here."

Big John's gruff voice cuts through the tense silence. Singh swings his gun over to the elder man, as well as the woman who trails after him, more hesitant than Eden's ever seen in her life. 

There's blood on Isla's hands. Eden isn't too focused on that, though, as she closes in on the sparkling stick in Big John's—from afar, it could be confused as a flare, but up close? Up close, it's something much different.

It's dynamite. 

"You kill us, and I'll make sure this thing blows." The elder man sounds more threatening than Eden's ever heard. "That roof won't hold and you'll never see El Dorado."

It's the biggest threat Big John can make to the man. Eden doesn't know if he's bluffing or not, but truly she doesn't care. He's stepping up—more than he has in the last few days, more than he did the prior night, when they were all in a similar situation. 

"Drop your gun." Big John bellows. "Drop the gun!"

He does the opposite, turning the weapon right back to John B. 

Isla steps forward. Her hands are raised—not in surrender, but in a quiet plea. "Carlos, don't. Please. He's just a boy." 

A month ago, Isla left the same 'boy' to rot in a jail cell. 

Singh doesn't even glance at her at first. The gun stays fixed on John B., inches from his heart.

"I said, don't!" Isla's voice spikes suddenly, cracked and raw. "You want to be remembered as the man who slaughtered teenagers in a sacred cave full of gold?"

Singh's mouth twitches. "You assume I care how I'm remembered."

"I assume you care about surviving," Isla snaps. "Because if you shoot that boy—if you hurt any of them—Big John will light that stick and none of us are making it out alive. That includes you."

The elder Routledge nods in confirmation. "If my son dies, we all die." 

"You see, the problem is I don't believe you, John." Singh spits out. "I don't believe that you would blow up your opportunity to see El Dorado, even to save your own son, and even your own son knows that, you know." 

John B. glances down for a moment, proving Singh's words relatively true.

"You've proven it time and time again, John, you know that." Singh holds up the chunk of gold he'd taken from John B's bag in exchange for Eden. "This, John, is the great quest. This is what we've been looking for our whole lives. So put that thing out and join me."

Eden looks between the Routledge and Singh. She wants to believe Big John will make the right choice, but she knows better. All three of them do—they've all pulled the short stick when it came to parents who did right. Time and time again had Ward, Isla, and Big John done wrong, and certainly when it came to gold. 

Big John looks at the blood on his hands. At the dynamite. At Isla. Then back at his boy. 

"No, I can't." The Routledge clutches the dynamite like it's sacred. "This is for you, kid."

The dynamite flies into the air.

"Run!"

Eden's being dragged forward before she can comprehend what's happening, seething at the burn in her side. Sarah's hand is clammy in hers as the blonde stumbles forward. John B. slides behind them, Converse struggling on the uneven terrain. 

"Dad, let's go!" John B. calls out.

Big John and Isla stagger out from the corner, though it seems to be Isla doing most of the work.  From her side, the father echoes back, "Keep going!"

The Routledge glances between his father and friends, before handing over the bag of gold—in the madness of the moment, he'd grabbed in. He places it in the hands of Sarah, "Take the gold. Get out of here. Go."

Sarah yanks Eden forward by the hand. By God's grace do they get out before the explosion, 

The three left inside the cave aren't so lucky.

There's a deep rumbling, and within seconds rock and dust fly out of the caves opening. The ground shakes, and the two girls go right for the wet Earth below. The Bexley groans as she lands, side aching.  Above, three figures come flying out of the cave, screaming. 

There's an audible thud as they land. Sarah scrambles onto her feet and dashes for her boyfriend, who's a mess of bruised limb and ratted hair on the ground. Eden pushes herself back on her feet with a sound of strain, staggering towards the figure beside her brother—Isla. Coughing and grunting fills the dusty air.

"Mom," Eden breathes, dropping to her knees beside her. Her hand flies to Isla's shoulder, shaking her gently. "Hey. Hey, you with me?"

Isla groans, lashes fluttering. "Jesus Christ..."

The Bexley loops an arm under Isla's back, hoisting her upright with a grunt. The older woman coughs hard, and dust spews from her mouth.

Beside them, Sarah cradles her boyfriend's face. "You okay?"

"Yeah, never better." The Routledge grunts.

"That was graceful, you guys." Eden drops hold of her mother. "Really." 

John B. ignores her, and instead moves for his father.  The elder man is still in the dirt, visibly struggling as he groaned in pain. "We gotta go."

Isla hurries over to where Big John is situated, helping the younger Routledge haul the man up. He's practically dead weight. 

"Dad, come on." John B. ushers.

As he's assisted up, Big John grumbles, "Anyone could have heard that blast."

"Let's go, let's go."

"We gotta get out of here."

Sarah and Eden lead the way, with Isla and John B. staying behind to assist Big John—Eden isn't sure where she found the strength to be without assistance, but she begs it stays. 

The group traces their steps back, staggering through the uneven jungle terrain in a mad and adrenaline filled rush. Eden isn't sure why they're rushing—Singh was nowhere to be found, and based on how Big John explained the dynamite, the Bexley is sure he never will be again. They have time to take a breather, to rest their aching limbs and sore chests. 

Which they do, when Big John starts groaning again.

"I think I got pretty banged up back there, kids." Big John is left staggering by himself, having pushed Isla and his son's assistance away. However, he's starting to lean heavily to the side, towards a rock.

John B. ushers, "Let's just keep moving."

"I think I gotta sit." He leans for the rock. "I need to sit for a sec."

The group halts in their tracks with him, embracing the moment of relief for themselves. 

"I just need a minute." Big John clutches at his gut. "Get my legs up under me."

"Just take it easy, Dad." John B. murmurs, concerned.

Isla steps forward, moving towards the elder man. "Has it gotten worse?"

Big John wheezes, "I don't see how it could have gotten better."

The red on Isla's hands matches the red surrounding Big John's gut. Eden frowns as she stares at the sitting man, "What the hell happened to you?"

"A bullet grazed me," The elder Routledge replies, breathless. 

Eden gestures to her wrap. "Twins?" 

Isla shoots her a look, voice dry and unimpressed, "You're not funny."

But Big John laughs—a real one. Rough, surprised, warm.

"No, Isla. It's perfect." He says, eyes still on Eden as the smile lingers. "She's always been perfect."

Eden's brows rise slightly. The words hit harder than expected—not just the praise, but the quiet weight of it. Big John isn't just joking. He's showing real acceptance, something she hasn't felt from him since he returned. It means more to her than it should. 

A solid clunk interrupts the moment as Sara sets the bag of gold down. 

Big John's gaze is torn from the Bexley, instead moving for the bag. "Is that what I think it is?"

In all the commotion, the teens hadn't had time to show their findings to the elder man. He still didn't know they really found it. 

"Oh yeah," John B. confirms with a proud little smirk.

"Big John, it's beautiful." Sarah admits in awe, hands digging into the bag. She pulls out a piece almost the size of her fist, a girlish giggle slipping from her lips.

Eden nods, a tired but genuine smile on her face. "It's real. Just like you said."

Sarah continues to marvel, "It was like nothing you could ever imagine."

Big John's eyes shimmer with tears as he stares at the rock in Sarah's grasp. The pain in his gut, the dust in his throat, the blood on his hands—it all fades. The gold, his gold, is real. "Ah... that's amazing."

"You were right," John B. says, voice softer now.

"It's all, like... gold. Everywhere," Sarah adds, still struggling to describe the wonder of it.

"Eden figured out the riddle," John B. says suddenly, glancing toward her. "The 'walking in the dark'."

Isla, who'd been oddly silent, perks up. "You did?"

"Those two were busy making out." Eden brushes off, bringing a hand up to twist one of her bracelets. "Someone had to pay attention."

 Big John smiles with nothing but utter pride. "Attagirl. Thank you, Eden."

Eden offers a small grin back. It's not exactly forgiveness, but it's something. 

Isla looks at her daughter with something, too. 

Her eyes flit to Eden, then down to the blood on her own hands. The gold. The relief. The girl her daughter had become while Isla was too.....busy.

There's a flicker of something in her eyes—a complicated blend of emotions: surprise, jealousy, maybe even guilt. Because for years, Eden was the girl she scolded into silence, corrected with cold looks and cutting remarks. The problem child. Always her opposite. Her wild card. Her shame. Isla never understood how she could birth something so feral, so unrefined, so unlike her.

The girl who'd once been too loud, too stubborn, too impulsive. Too much. The one Isla had tried to wrangle into order, to reshape into something softer, more manageable, more like her.

She never imagined that girl would become the kind of person to solve the riddle. To lead them into El Dorado.

Yet, here she is.

Acknowledged. Praised. Seen.

By Big John, no less—the man Isla used to call reckless, delusional. The man she thought she was better than. But, his voice cracked with pride when he looked at Eden. Perfect, he'd said.

And Isla never said that. Not once.

The Bexley's throat tightens. She watches Eden tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, fingers still fiddling with her bracelets like she always did as a child. There's dirt on her cheeks, blood on her side, and the weight of the world in her eyes. And still—still she stands tall.

She steps forward before she can second guess it. Reaches for her daughter. Hesitant. Awkward. Hands unsure, but trying. And then she pulls her daughter into her chest, arms wrapping around her shoulders. Something maternal and desperate and unfamiliar.

Eden freezes.

She hasn't felt Isla's arms around her in years. 

It's strange. Warm. Real. A breath shudders out of her before she can stop it, her body sagging for the briefest second. She doesn't hug back—not immediately—but she doesn't pull away either. Eden doesn't say anything, but her fingers twitch, curled against Isla's side. Her eyes close, and a weight of some kind lifts off her shoulders. 

It's not forgiveness, but it's something.

"So sweet, you know?"

Eden opens her eyes, and her heart sinks in her chest when she sees the gun aimed in her direction. 

It wouldn't be a Pogue adventure if the Cameron's didn't come and ruin it, would it? 

Ward stands in front of the five, gun in his outstretched arm. His eyes are cold, as he stares at the scene ahead. The gold. Big John. Isla, hugging her daughter. His daughter, smiling. 

The Cameron smiles, though it doesn't meet his eyes. "One big happy family, huh?" 

Eden breaks away from her mother, cautiously stepping back. Isla stares at the man who she once knew—he hadn't been the same since Big John's 'death'. Not really. John B's jaw clenches.

Betrayal sits heavy in Sarah's eyes, but she tries to stay guarded. "Dad, what are you doing?"

"I'm too tired to hold my hands up, Ward." Big John gruffly states, seeming rather over Ward Cameron and his antics. "So if you're not good with that, you can just shoot me now." 

"Well, watch what you wish for, my old friend." Ward bitterly spits. "We might come to that."

Isla's voice slices through the tension like a blade. "That's not going to happen." 

The Bexley steps forward, hand outstretched, fingers gently curling over the barrel of Ward's gun.

Ward's expression flickers. Surprise. Confusion. Something sharper underneath. "Isla."

"You killed him once." She says, her voice low, even. "You really wanna do that again?"

Ward stares at her, unmoving. The gun doesn't drop, but it trembles—just slightly—in her hand. "You know, Isla," he starts, voice tight with accusation, "I've done a lot for you the last few months. I've kept your name out of all of this."

"I never asked for protection," Isla snaps, "I've been sick of it for a while. I've wanted out. But you—you couldn't let go. Not of the gold. Not of the chase. Not of your power." Her grip on the barrel tightens.

Ward's lips press into a thin line. "You think I'm the villain here?" 

"I think you're lost," Isla replies, collected. "And I'm not following you anymore."

The Cameron man stares at the woman, like he's debating his choices. "You know, Isla, you've been a good friend. I'd hate to have to use this on you, too—"

Sarah cuts in, "Put the gun down."

"Shut up, Sarah." Ward silences, before his eyes flit back to the woman in front of him. "Back off."

Big John speaks up next. "It's okay, Isla."

The older woman glances back at Big John, who gives her a curt nod. Then, she exhales slowly. Backs up while staring at Ward—the man who once had her loyalty, her trust, as a teenager, her  love. Now, he's just a desperate man with a gun, facing the people who've finally stopped fearing him.

Without Isla in his way, Ward crosses towards the group. "You have it all, don't you, John? Now you get everything, huh?" With his free hand, the man grabs the chunk of gold sitting in his daughter's grasp. "Thank you, sweetheart."

He stares at his daughter, like he's waiting for her to fight back. When she doesn't—when she just looks at him with betrayal in her doe eyes—he continues.

"You get to go home, back to Kildare. Live happily ever after. With your son that loves you. And my daughter who hates me." Ward's hands only clench tighter on the gun as he speaks. Tears collected in his lash line. "I'm sorry, John. I don't think I can allow that."

Big John looks down, accepting his fate.

"You're supposed to be dead." Ward breathes, eyes widening in a crazed manner. "I think I liked you better that way."

The gun cocks. There's a cacophony of screaming, but it's not from Isla, John B, Sarah, and Eden as they watch Big John's blood splatter. No, it's from JJ, Kiara, Pope, and Cleo as they run out from the bushes, machetes drawn and lips curled back in a primal rage. 

"Stop it! Get back right now!"

"Stay back!"

"Ward, get back right now!"

"Put it down!"

"Back—back! Stay!"

"Put it down!"

"Stand back, stand back!"

Ward spins in circles, gun darting between each Pogue. Eden stands frozen, lips parted as she stares at her four friends in shock. How did they find them? 

"Come on!" JJ spits, holding his machete tighter than the rest of the group. No one fucked with his family. "You're outnumbered, Ward."

Pope cries, "What are you gonna do, shoot us all?"

Big John attempts, "If you gotta shoot somebody, Ward, shoot me." 

The gun immediately whips around to the elder man.

John B. steps forward, eyes locked on Ward. "Or me." 

Ward's hands shake as Sarah steps forward, next. Right in front of her boyfriend, right in front of the gun. 

"Stop." Is all the Cameron says as she takes her place in front of the barrel. She comes close enough so it's pressed right against her chest. "Enough."

Ward's never looked so horrified. "Don't!"

"You're not gonna kill all of us." Sarah speaks, as firmly as possible. Her father's facade breaks, and a few tears slip down his face."I know you won't. I know you." Her voice is nothing but a tearful whisper. "You forget that I know you." 

Ward's face softens. Sarah puts her hand atop his and he shatters completely. She'll always be his little girl. 

"You can't." The Cameron continues, as if she hasn't broken her father enough. With gentle hands, she pushes his down, and takes the gun into her own, clutching it at her side.

Ward chokes. "I couldn't—I couldn't do it."

Sarah just nods. Her father caresses her cheek, like it makes all that happened better. 

A new gun cocks. "Yeah? Well, I can."

Eden looks behind her to see a familiar man. He's one of Singh's guards, and there's a crazed look in his eyes, too, like he's out for revenge. The Bexley tenses, thinking of the night before. He's not Ward. He's not afraid to shoot—proven by the wound in her gut.  

JJ raises his machete a little higher. John B. raises his own gun for the man. 

Singh's guard retaliates by cocking his gun for Big John's head. "Toss it."

"Take it easy, bud." Big John lightly murmurs, starting to sound more and more weak. "Your boss is dead. You got no reason to do this." 

"I can think of a few reasons." He notices the gun still raised in the younger Routledge's grasp. "Toss it!"

John B knows better, and drops the weapon into the dirt.

"You thought you'd end up with the gold, eh?" The guard moves downhill towards the teens, gun still raised. "Alright, nobody move. My mate back there is dead."

One of the men from last night, Eden presumes. 

The guard scans over each teen, before he lands on Eden. 

"Because of you." 

His 'mate' is a body growing cold in the jungle, with a  bullet sizzling in the back of his skull. A bullet that came from Isla. To protect Eden. 

A sick smile crosses the man's face, and the gun rises to her chest. "You go first."

Eden knows she's not escaping this one. 

She doesn't blink. Doesn't flinch. She just breathes.

Eden watches his finger twitch over the trigger. Her pulse pounds in her ears, but her face stays neutral—shoulders squared, chin high, like she's meeting death head-on. The barrel of the gun might be pointed straight at her heart, but she refuses to give the bastard the satisfaction of seeing her beg.

She glances at her friends—at the way JJ's whole body is tense, ready to lunge even though he's outmatched. At the way John B. shifts just slightly, as if gauging the space between him and the gun, calculating something reckless.

They won't make it in time. She knows that.

And strangely, she's not afraid.

Her mind drifts to summer. The warmth of the sun on her skin. The salt in her hair. JJ's laugh echoing through the marsh. John B. singing off-key in her ear as they drove through the marsh.  The Pogues in the HMS— the way it all felt so infinite then.

Closing her eyes, the Bexley breathes in slow, steady, and for a second, there's peace. 

Because even though her life has been chaos, even though her past is bloody and her future always uncertain—she wouldn't change a thing. Not a damn thing.

If this is how she goes, at least she went down fighting beside them. At least she lived.

At least, she's going out a Pogue.

The shot rings out like thunder.

Eden jerks—but it isn't pain that follows. It's warmth.

Warm, wet blood splattering across her cheek, down her shirt. Her ears ring as she snaps her eyes open to see Isla standing in front of her. Taking the bullet. 

The woman gasps. A trembling hand grazes in between her rips. Red stains her shirt. It seeps through her fingers. She sinks to her knees.

Eden feels sick. Her face goes slack, a contrast to the deep red soaking her skin. 

From where he stands, Ward stares in shock at the blood, at his best friend crumpled on the ground. The words she'd said to him mere moments ago suddenly pass over, and something in him snaps, instead.

Isla had been right. He was lost—he'd been lost in the gold for years, and now he's let it control his entire life. Maybe it was time he did something right; time he let go. 

His eyes flick to Sarah, his girl, prized and praised. Her lip is already wobbling, horror dawning like a tidal wave because she knows. She shakes her head, frantic, as if to tell him not to—please don't—

But Ward yells—raw, guttural—and lunges.

The Cameron tackles the guard before the man can react. The gun goes off thrice. The weight of the impact sends the perpetrator flying backwards, and Ward has no choice but to go with him. To Eden it all happens in slow-motion. She can see the blood spots forming on Ward's back. 

 The two men fall right off the edge of the cliff. An echoing thump follows their descent, and then silence crashes like a wave.

Everyone stares at the cliff, horrified by what just happened. Sarah is the first one to step forward, stiff.  She peers down, and the choked gasp that leaves her mouth says everything.

They all know. Ward's gone. The guard, too.

The rest of the group moves for the edge. Eden, however, stays locked in place. She doesn't move, doesn't even look. Truly, she doesn't care, not really—not in the way she probably should. In her defense, it's hard to do so when all she can hear is the sound of her mother choking on her own blood. 

"Mom," Eden stammers. Her feet unlock, and she drops to her knees, as much as it hurts. She's not the one with a bullet lodged between her ribs, but her breaths come out uneven. Shaky hands meet wet blood, desperate. "Hey—hey, just stay with me, okay?"

Isla's head lolls slightly as she coughs, blood bubbling past her lips. Her fading eyes catch Eden's. A ghost of a smile pulls at the corner of her mouth. She lifts a trembling hand, brushing it weakly against Eden's cheek in a rare, soft gesture. Eden leans into it, lips trembling. 

"Mommy, please." Tears fall from Eden's eyes freely, now. Her voice is a cracked whisper. She knows her mother is dying, but that's not fair. She just got Isla back. For the first time in her life, Eden was finally feeling like she had a mom. Why was she dying now? 

Isla's fingers twitch against Eden's cheek, smearing blood in their wake. She can't lift her hand any higher. 

"You're..." Isla's voice is a rasp, barely audible over the roar in Eden's ears. She tries again, forcing it out. "You're a good girl, Eden."

For once, there's no anger. No resentment. No shame.

Only a daughter holding her mother. And a mother finally seeing her.

Isla goes still.

Eden exhales, but it falls out as more of a sob. A shuddering breath leaves her chest. Isla's hand falls from her face, and down into the wet Earth. The choked gasps and bubbling blood have stopped, leaving the Bexley in a horrible silence.

There's a sour ache sitting in Eden's chest, because even if Isla had been a terrible mother, she was still hers. No one wanted their mother to die. 

For years, the Bexley wished she was rid of Isla, but never her mommy. Never the woman who, once, cradled Eden against her chest and mused to her husband how perfect she was. The woman who would have never imagined she'd hate the same child mere years later. 

It's an odd, hollow thing—grief for someone you lost long before they ever died.

Eden stays kneeling, frozen in the blood-soaked dirt, her mother's body cradled in her arms. Tears burn her cheeks, but underneath them, something else stirs. Not rage. Not regret.
Peace.

Isla Bexley had been a burden her whole life—a chain around Eden's ankles. A mother who never loved her the way she needed. Now, that tether is cut. Isla was gone. Eden is motherless, but she's also....free.

Simply, the Bexley doesn't know how to feel. She just knows there's tears staining her cheeks, a weird lightness blooming in her chest, and a still body in front of her. 

The world around her muffles. She barely registers the soft, broken, "Hey..." that comes from somewhere behind her.

Pope's the first to notice. While the others stay focused on Sarah, he suddenly realizes that Eden isn't with them. He looks back, his face falling as he takes in the sight—Isla's body, Eden's shaking shoulders, the blood staining the dirt. His throat bobs like he's trying to swallow the lump rising there.

The others catch on one by one.

Sarah drops out of John B's arms, and without a word, stumbles back and drops to her knees beside Eden. The blonde wraps her arms around the Bexley and pulls her close, a sniffling mess. Both girls tremble, and Eden immediately finds herself clinging onto the Cameron.They knew this pain too well—always were they two sides of the same cursed coin. Two daughters consistently gutted by their parents' greed and choices. 

Eden presses her face into Sarah's shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut. She feels the others join them—Cleo standing nearby, solemnly respecting the moment,  Kiara crouching low, John B dropping beside her, JJ's hand sliding to her back, rubbing slow circles. Their warmth anchors her, keeps her from tipping into the hollow grief eating at her ribs.

For a moment, they just are—a broken, bleeding family piecing themselves back together.

Then, Pope notices Big John, and they're all forced to come back to the now. 

"Hey. Hey..." The Heyward shuffles away from the Pogues, eyes widening as he spots the elder man. He's still against the rock, but his head tips dangerously back, and his eyes flutter. He's clearly nodding off. Not to sleep, but to death. "Big John? Big John? John B!"

John B pales as he looks up. "Dad." 

Quickly, he leaves the ground and scrambles for Pope, who's struggling to haul Big John's dead weight up. 

It's a chaotic next few minutes. Panicked calls leave John B and Pope's lips, ushering the group to move, move, move. It's clear that Big John is in dire condition, and that they need to get back down the mountain as soon as possible—it took them days to go uphill, if they want any chance of helping Big John, they need to move efficiently, and now. 

There's no time to process anymore. No time to grieve. Only time to move. 

JJ hesitates to get on his feet. His hand brushes out slightly to touch the small of her back, gentle. "Hey," he murmurs low enough that it's just for her. "You good to walk?"

Eden blinks up at him. She's pale, blood splattered, eyes red-rimmed. But she offers a stiff nod, wiping her face roughly of tears.

Before she stands, she does one last thing.

With a shaking hand, she reaches forward and presses two fingers over Isla's eyelids, gently closing them. There's a quiet finality to it.

As she does so, a glint catches her eye—Isla's wedding ring, still snug on her finger.

Eden hesitates for only a second. Then, carefully, she pulls it free.

The band is warm, slick with blood, and heavier than it should be. She clutches it tight in her palm, then slips it into her pocket. Her father will probably want it. Will probably want to know that she never took it off, even after everything. 

"Come on, Ed'," JJ says quietly, his hand still steady on her back.

Eden breathes in through her nose, swiping a shaking hand across her face to clear her vision, and forces herself up. Her legs wobble but hold. When she finally pushes to her feet, Sarah's hand immediately finds hers, clutching it tight like she might lose her if she let go. Eden squeezes back, feeling the desperate, shared grief between them.

No one says anything else. There's no time.

They just move.

The tread back down is just as slow as it was up, but the teens make quick work. 

Eden isn't sure how long it takes them to get back down to the boat. Her mind is still a hazy mess —everything happened too quickly to process. Not long ago, she thought she'd be returning home rich. Now, she was motherless.

 The only thing she knows is that her feet keep pushing forward, right then left, but even that might be Sarah, tugging her along.

Sarah and John B. take turns leading the way back down, the Routledge switching out with Pope and JJ every so often to assist his father downhill. Big John stays barely conscious in-between the arms of his boys—only a few feet in did he give up on trying to move himself and instead becomes dead weight.

The humidity and heat means nothing to them on the way down. Not with Big John slipping further and further away by the minute.

Once the reach the dock, everything becomes a mad rush. Pope grabs their bags, and sprints for their boat. The girls all pile in next, shifting items around to create a makeshift space for the elder man. Ankles dragging against the wood, Big John is hauled towards the boat by JJ and John B with much strain. It takes much effort to settle him in.

Pope mans the engine, the small boat creating ripples as it smoothly sailed away from the dock.  

The Pogues sit in a heavy silence. They all know what's coming—it's clear by the way Big John's face is losing color; the way his blinks are becoming lazy, and his breaths start to shudder. He's dying.  As much as they rushed to get down, as much as they can hope, there's still hours before they can get any proper help. Big John won't make it for more than a few minutes. 

Kiara and Pope sit towards the back, giving the father and son space. Cleo has a hand resting on his chest reassuringly. Sarah has her hand wrapped around his arm, trying to hide her frown. Eden sits stiffly on the floor of the boat, crammed between the Cameron and JJ, but she barely feels them, instead numbly staring outwards. Above her, the Maybank boy presses his face against his blood-stained knuckles, hanging his head low. They all know. 

The old man shifts weakly with a groan, and Eden looks up just in time to catch him blinking sluggishly at the sky, his chest barely rising.

"Hey, hey, hey, Pop. Hey." John B. sits behind his father, lightly stroking his graying hair. Eden wishes he'd stop pleading—can't he see Big John is dying? "Hang in there, okay?"

Big John chuckles as best he can. "But we did it together, my boy."

"Yeah."

"Just....just like we drew it up." 

"Yeah. Yeah, we did." 

It's quiet for a moment. Then, Big John whispers, "Bird, Bird, Bird...."

John B. clutches his father tighter. "Dad, yeah?"

"Hey, hey, Bird." A blood-soaked hand comes to grab his son's, grip weak but there. John B. sniffles, looking into his father's already lifeless eyes. His hand then darts outward, searching. "Hey, Sarah....Sarah."

"Hi." Sarah swallows down her tears and moves her hand to grasp the elder mans, feeling the warm blood soak her palm. She pretends to be okay. "I'm here, Big John."

 "Bird, you gotta hang on to this one." Big John stares ahead, empty, trying to see his boy and his girl—what he'll be leaving behind to start new adventures. "I know, that I wasn't any great shakes....as a father."

John B. shakes his head. "Stop, Dad."

"But you..." The father continues, gently stroking his son's hand. "You were the best son any man could hope for. I want you to know that...."

These are words John Booker Routledge has waited for all his life. It's almost ironic they're being said now. 

"You can tell me when we get home, okay?" John B. just strokes his father's hair, like nothing's happening. He chokes back his own tears. "Almost there."

Barely a reply. "Okay." 

"Hold up. Look, dad—look."  Tears trail gently down John B's dirty cheeks as he reaches to the side to grab a block of gold from his bag. He sets it down on Big John's chest, letting the old man lazily look down at it. "We did it. You did it." 

Big John covers the block with his palm, holding it close to his heart. He's been fighting all day to keep going for the sake of his son, but, now, they won. It's okay.  

And even though he won't see John B. live his life, he knows another family who will. A peace settles in his slowing heart. 

"I'll see you." Big John stares off into the sunset, eyes fluttering to a close. "I'll see you at home, kid."

Eden drops her gaze. 

She feels hot and silent tears slip down her face as she thinks about the man sitting dead in her John B's arms; to the nights he offered her to spend at the Chateau when home was too loud, too cruel. To him clapping a heavy hand on her back after she beat John B at fishing for the first time. To how he'd ruffle her hair, and offer her a beer some nights. To the way he always treated her like she was part of something — even if her own blood wanted nothing to do with her.

Big John was never perfect. Sometimes he wasn't even good—especially not lately, with the obsession with the gold clouding everything else, and the way he shoved both her and Sarah aside like they didn't matter. 

But, it didn't compare to the place he offered when she needed one. To how he called her kid, sometimes. To how he liked her, even when Isla didn't—even when Eden didn't like herself.

Big John had been a father to her, once. Maybe not by blood, but in the ways that counted. He was the first adult who ever looked at her and saw her. And that's what mattered to Eden. 

"Dad?" John B. doesn't move at first, just stares at the now-still chest, like maybe if he stares long enough, it'll rise again. But it doesn't, and he crumbles forward, burying his face in his father's hair like a little boy hiding from monsters in the closet. "Dad."

Eden feels like she might be sick. John B's broken words mixed with the wedding ring burning a hole in her pocket are suddenly too much. She turns her face toward the ocean, eyes stinging. 

Two parental figures—gone, just like that. No warning. No time to breathe. 

JJ shifts, blinking back his own tears. His hand settles lightly on her knee, and it shakes—just barely. Maybe he's trying to comfort her, or maybe he needs it just as bad. Either way, Eden leans closer to him. 

A bell tolled three times in the distance. It felt like solace, and the Pogues fell quiet.

Back in the Orinoco Basin, the Pogues all stand in front of a tree. 

 It's wide and weathered, with a thick trunk, and branches sprawling upward like it's trying to hold up the sky. It reminds Eden of the one that sits in front of what used to be the Chateau, and just like the one back home, the Pogues use this one as a memorial of kinds, too.

Below the overbearing branches, underneath the earth, is Big John's body. There was no discussion about it when they reached land—John B and JJ simply rose and carried his body off the boat, whilst Pope started digging. It felt right leaving him here, of all places. 

Atop the flattened dirt is a stone, and it's marked the same way JJ marked the Chateau tree in the months after John B's death. 'BIG JOHN ROUTLEDGE. EXPLORER + FATHER. RIP. P4L.'  Simple, yet enough. 

Standing beside the make-shift headstone are two crosses. 

While the boys buried Big John, Sarah and Eden traveled a little aways towards a field of flowers. Together, they created a small bouquet. Kiara grabbed four thick sticks, and Cleo them to create two crosses, firmly placing them in the dirt. A smaller memorial for Ward and Isla, but one nonetheless. 

Sarah set a small photo of her family during Midsummers onto her father's cross—the final time they were all a family. Ward, frozen in time, the way Sarah wanted to remember him. 

Eden has nothing of the kind—the Bexley doesn't have any images of her parents when they were twenty-one, holding her, young and naive to what would happen to their family.  So, she just leaves the cross bare. 

John B's reverted back to the tears he shed no more than a year ago, when his dad was first declared dead. Sarah stands in his arms, eyes puffy and cheeks wet. Cleo stands stiff, showing her firm solace. Pope sheds no tears, but stands gaunt. JJ's swallowing down his own emotions, but he's bound to cry later. Eden doesn't think she can cry anymore, even if she wanted too.

They don't speak for a while—there's nothing left to say.  Everything that needed to be said was spoken in tears, in the way they stood beside each other without needing to ask.

Months ago—though it feels like a lifetime—back when the gold was nothing more than a summer adventure, the Pogues believed it would fix everything. That it would be the answer. That it would make them happy, rich, Kook. They yearned for a taste of privilege. 

But now, standing with the gold sitting heavy in their hands, they know better.

 It ruined their lives, really. Took away their innocence. They aren't just kids playing anymore. They know that the hunt costs, and they've paid it. They're adults, now. 

The kind of adults who know that not all treasure is worth the cost. That parents can be wrong. That dreams can rot. That sometimes, you don't come back from the things you do in the name of survival.

And maybe that's what growing up is—realizing no one's coming to save you. That the people who raised you, who made you, are just as flawed as anyone else. That sometimes, the best you can do is bury them with love, forgive what you can, and let the rest rot in the dirt.

But the gold is theirs now. After all the blood, all the loss, all the running—they have it.

And that means something too.

They're free. 

Not in the way they thought they would be—but maybe in a better way.

Not just from treasure hunts or curses, but from the weight of legacy. From their parents' mistakes. From the constant ache of trying to prove something. They aren't free in the way they thought they'd be, but maybe this free is better. 

They have the gold. They don't have anything to run from, anymore. They can go home and just be. Most of all, they have each other. What awaits them back on the island is unknown, but at least they'll find out together. Pogues for life.

And for Eden, that's enough. It's always been enough. 

mara's misc!

....and that's a wrap on s3??? 

10 months later and woah. 

this season was definitely a lot to write. it's my least favorite season, and having obx4 dropped right in the middle of writing for it did not help my motivation at all. knowing jj's fate really just killed my wanting to write because what's the point? why write if i'm going to have to right that bs?

but, i've pushed through to get here and i'm so glad i finally have. obx3, kiss my ass GOODBYE. 

there are some things that i did enjoy writing this season, though. the whole gold plot line was definitely tough, and i hope i didn't miss any details about it—i'm a big obx fan, but i'm not one who looks into the history of all these plot lines. especially el dorado, which is an actual story with lore; i got to write more of john b and eden's sibling relationship, as well as develop eden and jj more (much to kensie's enjoyment). i also got to write eden and rafe which was very fun to do, more so than i expected. 

her relationship with both her parents is a BIG one that i got to touch on this season. i enjoyed getting to write more of tom, because my diva has been doing nothing for the last two seasons, but now he's stepping up as a father. i do plan on trying to write a little more for them in s4, but obviously s4 gives us nothing for parents (minus jj). he's just trying his best to understand why tf his daughter is never home.

then, of course, eden and isla!! from the beginning, i've always had fun diving into their issues. originally, i never planned on making isla a villain, but making a last minute decision to do so has been so interesting to write. i love me a complicated character like isla bexley, and writing her villian arc has also added so much to eden's character and development.

  however, there was nowhere for her to go in season 4—not without ward. killing her off with him felt right. in no world would isla and eden return back to the obx and be normal. she will always be a villain to eden, "forgiven" or not. 

i wish i could've explored on her character more. BUT, in my head, isla used to be  a good person. she didn't hate pogues. she got pregnant out of wedlock and tom did what he thought was right and married her. her parents hated everything about the situation. tom started working to support bc isla's parents wanted nothing to do with her or eden, and it's when they started getting respected and rich that isla started to turn for the worse. she did not always hate eden (in my head, she adored baby eden). she was young, and what she could've had without eden got to her head, if that makes sense? she tried to be her mother and keep Eden on the right track, so she didn't lose her respect from hanging around pogues too, like isla did herself? 

idk maybe i'm just yapping to yap. 

s3 eden was literally just here for vibes and ykw i can't blame her

now, if you've read my obx4 opinions then it's clear i'm both excited and not to write for this season. i'm very thankful that the pogues are more together than in s3, and there are certain scenes/plots i'm excited to get to cover. but i'm SO not ready to write the finale because wtf (it's going to be even worse in this book, trust).

i'm also not ready to even try and cover the first episode with all the time skips. that is why this chapter ended with the real s3 ending and not the 18 month time skip. i'm going to write that in, where it fits, so the plot can move conveniently. 

can't move on though until i give my thank you's of course.

as always my biggest thank you goes to kensie. this girl is my mf rock. while she hasn't been as active on wp, she's still found ways to harass me into writing, more so for jjeden (NO jjeden isn't happening in s4, hop off my dick). she actually wrote me a whole essay on why jjeden should happen, so yeah!!! 

hitting our 2 years of friendship, i'm proud to say this girl is the best person in my life and maybe ever. we literally cry over jj maybank's death every single day, and send the most obnoxious tiktoks to each other. it's even worse now that she's read the hunger games. #kensiemara forever or whatever the kids are saying. 

anywho everybody go follow her if you're somehow not, and go read "tourniquet" because i said so!!!

AND ofc another thank you to GhostWriterGirl-1 for all her comments and support on not just this act, but all that i write. i love you girl <3 

i'm also appreciative to all who have commented, voted, added this book to their reading lists, or simply viewed it. it amazes me that i've written a character that so many people enjoy, and i'm so thankful for all of you <3 i hope to see all ya'll back for s4 :)

hope you enjoyed <3 see you back with s4!!!