Rough hands touched Luna's shoulder.
She tried to flinch away. Couldn't. Her body was stone. Heavy. Unresponsive.
"Easy now," a man's voice said. Deep. Gravelly. "I'm not gonna hurt you."
Luna's vision swam. She saw a face. Older. Weathered. Deep lines around tired eyes. Gray stubble.
Not Victor's men.
A stranger.
"Jesus, girl. What happened to you?" The man knelt beside her. His hands moved over her body. Checking wounds. His touch was careful. Clinical.
Luna tried to speak. Her throat clicked. Dry. No words came.
"Don't try to talk. Save your strength." The man stood. His knees cracked. "I'm gonna pick you up now. It's gonna hurt."
He slid his arms under her. Lifted.
Pain exploded through Luna's body. White-hot. Blinding. A scream built in her throat but came out as a whimper.
"I know. Almost there."
The man carried her across the sand. His boots crunched. His breathing steady despite her weight.
Luna's head lolled against his chest. She could hear his heartbeat. Strong. Real.
The man reached a truck. Old. Rusted. Beat-up. Dents covering every panel. He opened the passenger door and settled her inside with surprising gentleness.
Luna slumped against the seat. Her head hit the window. Through the glass she saw the vultures. Five black shapes. Disappointed. Flapping away.
The man climbed into the driver's seat. Pulled the door closed. Started the engine.
It coughed. Sputtered. Died.
He tried again. Same result.
"Come on," he muttered. Third try. The engine caught. Roared to life.
He put the truck in gear and pulled away.
Luna's eyes closed. Opened. She was trying to stay conscious. Trying to assess the threat.
Who was this man? Why was he helping?
Victor had people everywhere. Informants. Assets who'd sell information for cash or favors.
Was this a rescue or a trap?
Was she being saved or delivered?
The truck bounced over rough terrain. No road. Just dirt and rocks. Each jolt sent fresh pain through Luna's body. She bit back groans. Stayed silent.
The desert passed outside the window. Endless. Empty. Yellow sand and scrub brush. No other vehicles. No signs of civilization. Just emptiness.
Luna's mind drifted. The pain was fading. That was bad. It meant her body was shutting down. Going into shock.
She saw Aria's face. Those big brown eyes. That small hand reaching.
"Mama, don't leave me."
"I won't. I'm coming back."
But she couldn't go back. Not like this. Broken. Bleeding. Barely alive.
She'd failed.
The man drove in silence. Didn't ask questions. Didn't try to make conversation. Just drove.
Luna appreciated that. She didn't have the strength to lie. Didn't have the energy to create a cover story.
Twenty minutes passed. Maybe longer. Time was slippery. Luna kept losing moments. Blinking and finding the scenery had changed.
Through the windshield, she saw a structure appearing. Small. Shabby. A house in the middle of nowhere. Wood siding. Tin roof. Windows covered with something. No other buildings visible. No neighbors. Just desert and silence.
The perfect place to hide.
Or the perfect place where no one would hear you scream.
The man pulled up to the house and cut the engine. Silence fell. Heavy. Absolute.
He sat for a moment. Hands on the wheel. Staring at the house.
Luna watched him from the corner of her eye. Trying to read him. Trying to understand.
His face was hard. Weathered by sun and wind and years. But his eyes were sad. Old. Like he'd seen too much. Lost too much.
Finally he turned to look at her.
"My daughter looked like you," the man said quietly. "Before they killed her."
Luna's heart stuttered. Her breath caught.
The man opened his door and stepped out. Boots hitting dirt.
Luna sat frozen in the passenger seat. Blood pounding in her ears.
What did that mean?
Was he going to help her because she reminded him of his daughter?
Or was he going to hurt her because she reminded him of his daughter?
Was this grief or something darker?
The man walked around the truck. His footsteps slow. Deliberate.
Luna's hand twitched. Trying to reach for a weapon she didn't have. Her knife was gone. Lost in the sand. Her gun taken by Victor's guards.
She was defenseless.
The man opened her door. The hinges squeaked.
"Come on," he said. His voice neutral. Unreadable. "Let's get you inside."
He reached for her.
Luna looked at his weathered face. His sad eyes. His scarred hands reaching toward her.
She had no choice. Too weak to run. Too broken to fight.
She was at this stranger's mercy.
The man's hands slid under her. Lifted her gently. Like she was fragile. Precious.
Luna's vision blurred. Everything hurt. Her body was shutting down. Cell by cell. System by system.
The man carried her toward the house. The door was already open. Dark inside.
Luna's last coherent thought was a question.
Would she wake up in this house?
Or would this be where she died?
The darkness pulled her under before she found out.