The hum of the boat's engine was steady, almost hypnotic, as Roselyn sat wrapped in a blanket, staring at the dark, restless sea. The waves sloshed against the hull, each crash echoing the lingering rhythm of her heartbeat. Around her, the rescue team moved with quiet precision—Rowan issuing soft orders, Mika checking the instruments, Jax and Eli inspecting the gear. The efficiency of their movements was almost comforting, yet it underscored the reality that danger was never far away.
Roselyn drew her knees closer, hugging herself against the lingering chill, and her mind drifted back to a life that felt like a distant dream.
Her father. A man of towering influence, his presence commanding rooms and people alike. To the world, he was flawless, a paragon of integrity and justice. To her, he had always been distant yet admired—a figure of authority she had always tried to live up to, the obedient daughter, the one who never caused trouble. She remembered his speeches, his unwavering tone, the way his voice could fill a hall with quiet power. If he ever knew what had happened to her… could he forgive her for surviving, for needing help, for being broken?
Her mother. Graceful, beautiful, adored by everyone, moving through high society like a butterfly brushing over petals. To her, the darker sides of life barely existed—she never saw the cruelty, the danger, the horrors Roselyn had endured. And yet, Roselyn remembered her mother's warmth, her laughter, the subtle pride in her eyes whenever Roselyn succeeded. How could she protect her from the truth, from the unbearable knowledge that her daughter had been abducted, experimented on, and left scarred?
Her older brother, brilliant and ruthless, always a step ahead in business, a man who could manipulate markets as easily as breathing. He had always looked out for her in subtle ways, protective in ways that often went unnoticed by the world. But she couldn't allow him to see the person she had become—the fragile shell of herself she had fought to survive. The thought of his disappointment or his anger was unbearable.
Her grandfather. A retired special forces legend, disciplined, untouchable. She had idolized him as a child, imagining that his strength and honor could shield the world from harm. Yet she knew that if he saw her now, he would see vulnerability, failure, weakness—and she could not bear to disappoint him, even in the smallest way.
And yet… none of them could know.
The kidnappings, the terror, the experiments—they were secrets too dark to share. She had survived them, but the weight of survival carried its own scars. No one, not her father, mother, brother, or grandfather, could see how broken she had been, how fragile. She clenched her hands in her lap, the blanket tightening around her shoulders, and whispered a quiet promise to herself: I will survive. I will come back whole. But no one—no one—will ever see how broken I was.
Her gaze drifted to Rowan. He was at the helm, calm and controlled, issuing silent instructions to the team. Even in the shadows of the night, his presence radiated authority, competence, and something else she couldn't quite name—a protective steadiness that contrasted sharply with the storm still raging inside her. His hands moved confidently over the instruments, his eyes scanning every ripple on the water. In that moment, she realized she could trust him, even if only a little. Not fully, not yet—but enough to survive.
The boat rocked gently, each sway a reminder that she was still alive, still moving forward. The sea stretched endlessly before them, dark and restless, mirroring the storm inside her. The memories of fire, smoke, and Rambo's cold eyes lingered like shadows on the edges of her mind. She pressed her lips together, holding back tears that threatened to spill, unwilling to let vulnerability slip through the fragile barrier she had built around herself.
Roselyn allowed herself a slow, steadying breath. Each inhale drew in the night air, sharp and salty, each exhale released a fraction of the tension coiled inside her. The team moved efficiently, silently maintaining a perimeter around them, a constant reminder that safety was not given—it was enforced, protected, and watched over.
She thought of her family again, of the life that existed beyond this nightmare. A life she intended to reclaim, piece by piece. She would not let the darkness claim her, nor would she let fear dictate her future. She would protect herself—and, in turn, protect them from truths too heavy for anyone else to bear.
Rowan's voice cut softly through the hum of the engine. "You're quiet."
Roselyn startled slightly, then shook her head. "Just… thinking." Her eyes stayed fixed on the dark horizon, unwilling to betray the turbulence inside.
He nodded, accepting her silence. "It's okay. You can process at your own pace. No rush. We'll get you somewhere safe, and then… we'll figure out the next steps. Together."
The word "together" lingered in the air, almost foreign in its softness. Roselyn's chest tightened slightly, and she swallowed, unsure how to respond. She wanted to believe it, to cling to the fragile thread of hope he offered, but the memories of betrayal and torment refused to fade completely.
She pressed her lips together again, the blanket sliding slightly around her shoulders. I will reclaim my life, she promised herself silently. On my terms. No one else's. No one will control me again.
The boat cut steadily through the waves, carrying them further from the wreckage behind. Flames still smoked on the horizon, the ruins of the ship a reminder that Rambo was still out there, waiting, planning. And though she felt the protective presence of Rowan and his team, she knew the shadow of that threat would follow her. Always.
Yet for now, in the darkness and quiet, with the rhythmic hum of the boat beneath her, Roselyn allowed herself a sliver of peace. She was alive. She had survived. And even amidst the chaos, she had a spark—a spark that no one could extinguish.
The waves stretched endlessly before them, restless and infinite. But inside her, a single resolve burned bright: she would survive. She would reclaim her life. And when the time came, she would face the storm head-on—unbroken, unafraid, and on her own terms.