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Mira’s voice pulled Elena from sleep like a hand reaching into deep water. She surfaced slowly, disoriented, her body warm and languid in a way she couldn’t remember feeling in years. It took a moment to register where she was—wrapped in Brock’s arms, his hand splayed possessively across her lower back.

She straightened, not wanting to wake him if he was sleeping, but his eyes opened immediately, alert despite the late hour.

“Good?” he asked, his voice rough with sleep, and the intimacy of that single word—the assumption that he had the right to ask, that she’d answer honestly—made her pulse skip.

She took stock of herself. Still terrified. Still dreading what came next. But rested, at least. Centered. And acutely aware of how her body had molded itself to his during sleep, how natural it had felt to wake in his arms.

“I’m good.”

He didn’t immediately release her, and she didn’t immediately pull away. They stayed there for a long moment, wrapped in each other’s arms in the dim cabin, while the jet descended through the night sky toward Mexico. Then the warmth in his eyes shifted, cooling into something harder. More focused. He was transforming before her eyes from the gentle man who’d held her while she slept into the SEAL commander who’d seen combat in a dozen countries.

“We’re about to land in cartel territory,” he said, his voice taking on that operational edge that brooked no argument. “I need you sharp.”

Elena nodded, the reality of their situation crashing back over her like cold water. She straightened in her seat, smoothing her hair. Through the window, the Yucatan Peninsula came into view—a dark mass against darker water, scattered lights marking hotels and towns along the coast. Beautiful and deadly, like a poisonous flower. Somewhere down there was the temple. Somewhere down there was Marguerite. And in less than seventy-two hours, Elena would walk back into her nightmare to save her.

The jet’s wheels touched down with barely a whisper, Mira’s skill evident in the smooth landing. As they taxied toward the private aviation terminal, Elena’s phone immediately buzzed to life—messages and notifications flooding in now that they were back in range.

The cartel. Making sure she knew they were watching. Making sure she remembered what was at stake. She deleted the messages without reading them. Whatever threats they were sending, whatever mind games they were playing, it didn’t matter. She was here now. Committed.

“This is go-time,” Brock said, his voice carrying to the others as they began to stir. “Remember your cover. Once we land, Mira will put on her chauffeur’s hat and drive us in the rented sedan to the resort. She’s using a well-established cover, so we won’t have to worry about her getting through customs.”

“Won’t they go through this jet if she leaves it in a hangar?” Elena asked.

“They’ll go through it either way. Might as well make it easy for them. They’ll find only what we want them to find.”

“Is the cartel that embedded here?” Elena asked.

“Yes,” they all replied in unison.

“We’ll blend into the resort for the rest of the day and tonight,” Brock continued. “We have a Jeep excursion scheduled before sunset tomorrow. It’ll give us a chance to pull off the path and check the equipment Eden’s assets pre-deployed.”

“Golf carts?” Elena asked when he explained the extraction plan.

“Golf carts are street legal here,” he said with a slight smile. “Besides, these have been tweaked. You’re going to have to hold on tight.”

“What’s the timeline for the actual extraction?” Elena asked.

“We need intel first,” Nate said. “Surveillance, guard rotations, structural weaknesses. We go in blind, we all die. Including Marguerite. They’ve given us seventy-two hours. We’re going to use it.”

Elena nodded. She didn’t like the delay, but she understood it. Her training had taught her that much—rushing in got people killed.

“Listen, Elena,” Eden said, her tone frank. “We’re here to help, and we’ll do everything in our power to save Marguerite. But we’re only as strong as our weakest link. You’ve trained with us for seven years. You know how to fight, how to shoot, how to keep your cool when things go sideways. I know it’s different when the threat is personal, but you can’t let them get in your head. I’ve been there. We’ve all been there. Can you do this?”

“Yes,” Elena said without hesitation. She’d been willing to die alone to save Marguerite. With this team behind her, failure wasn’t an option.

“They’re calling me now,” she said.

“Shows they’re desperate,” Brock said. “If they wanted to hurt someone, they could grab anyone. They grabbed Marguerite specifically for leverage over you. They harm her, they lose that leverage. They lose you, they lose the data.”

Elena’s phone buzzed with new images. She unlocked it, bracing herself.

It wasn’t Marguerite. It was Elena herself—photos from where she’d been found in the alley, chained and beaten and naked. The cartel’s sick trophies, meant to paralyze her with fear.

“This isn’t me anymore,” she said. She deleted the first image, then the next, then all of them. Each deletion felt like reclaiming power they’d stolen from her.

She stood, straightened her clothes and her spine, and grabbed her bag. She was supposed to be a honeymooner on vacation, and no one would see anything different.

“I’m ready,” she said when she emerged onto the tarmac. “Let’s get her back.”