The safehouse was quiet that morning, the air heavy with a mix of anticipation and unspoken goodbyes. Rowan moved with his usual calm efficiency, checking details, confirming logistics, and giving silent instructions to the rest of the team. But every so often, his eyes flicked toward Roselyn, betraying the concern he tried to keep under control.
She stood at the edge of the compound, her duffel bag slung over her shoulder, watching as the sun broke through the treetops. The forest was calm, deceptively serene after the chaos that had defined the past months of her life.
"This is it," Rowan said softly, stepping beside her. His gaze held hers, a mixture of concern, pride, and something she couldn't quite name.
Roselyn forced a polite smile, though it faltered slightly. "I'll be fine," she said, keeping her voice steady. She couldn't tell him the full truth—that her new life would be entirely separate from this team, that even as she survived, she would be alone. She didn't dare. Not now, not when the weight of secrecy could mean the difference between life and death.
"Remember," Rowan continued, voice low, almost a whisper, "you're stronger than you think. And… if anything—anything happens—you know where to find us."
She nodded, swallowing hard. Words felt insufficient. She wanted to tell him everything, to ask him to stay, to promise she'd be careful—but the rules of witness protection left no room for emotion. "Thank you, Rowan. For everything."
He reached out, briefly brushing her hand with his. A subtle, grounding gesture in a world that had been chaotic and dangerous. "Stay alive. That's all that matters."
Moments later, she was led to a separate team of agents responsible for her relocation. Their movements were precise, practiced, and professional. Their faces were unfamiliar, their instructions concise. She followed silently, each step carrying the bittersweet weight of leaving Rowan, the team, and the life that had fought so fiercely to keep her alive.
The helicopter ride was quiet, the landscape below a blur of mountains and forests. Roselyn stared out the window, focusing on the distant horizon, trying to reconcile her past with the uncertain path ahead. Rowan's words echoed in her mind: Stay alive. That's all that matters. They were simple, but the gravity of them made her chest tighten.
Upon arrival at the agency's secure facility, she was guided through an endless maze of corridors, each turn and keypad entry a reminder that her past was now a shadow she could never fully reclaim. Her name was changed, records were erased, and identity carefully reconstructed. Every detail of her old life—the influential father, the socialite mother, the brilliant brother, the legendary grandfather—was excised from her public existence.
Her new name was simple, ordinary, chosen to blend. She became Elena Vaughn, a student far removed from the girl who had survived abduction and unspeakable experiments. Every document, every record reinforced the reality: the life she had known was over.
In her small apartment near the campus she would now call home, Roselyn unpacked her few belongings. The apartment was modest, practical—far from the opulent homes of her previous life. Here, she could breathe without fear of surveillance or danger. Yet the loneliness was palpable, an almost physical ache.
She wandered through the small kitchen, set her bag on the counter, and gazed out at the city. Students walked to class below, absorbed in ordinary worries—assignments, friendships, exams. The simplicity of their lives felt alien. She had survived darkness, and now, in the mundane, she felt an uneasy unfamiliarity.
For the first weeks, she lived quietly, keeping to herself. She attended lectures, studied late into the night, and found small moments of joy in routines: a cup of coffee in the morning, the scent of old textbooks, a quiet corner in the library bathed in sunlight. Every day was a careful balance—learning to exist in a world that didn't know her past, while keeping the instincts of vigilance that Rambo had forced her to cultivate.
Despite the distance, memories of Rowan and the rescue team were never far. She thought of his calm voice, the way he had guided her during training, the brief gestures of reassurance that had meant more than words ever could. She hadn't reached out to him, couldn't. Any connection to her old life risked exposure. And yet, quietly, a part of her cherished the memory of his presence—the anchor that had kept her from drowning in despair.
She learned quickly that safety had its costs. Trust was no longer freely given; friendships were tentative, measured, and observed from a distance. She watched classmates interact, laughed when others laughed, but never let herself fully engage. Every smile she offered was cautious, every word carefully chosen. This new life required vigilance, and she would not falter.
Even in her solitary routine, there were reminders of what she had survived. A flinch at a sudden noise, a moment of hyper-awareness when someone approached too closely, a lingering mistrust of strangers' intentions. Rambo's shadow was still there, invisible but persistent. She had escaped, but she had not forgotten. And she would not.
Two years passed in this quiet rhythm. Roselyn—Elena now—became adept at balancing safety and normalcy, reclaiming fragments of independence while guarding the secrets that could cost her everything. Each day built resilience, confidence, and self-reliance. She learned that surviving wasn't just about fleeing danger—it was about rebuilding herself from the inside out.
And though her past remained a hidden scar, the fire within her—the will to live, to reclaim her life—burned brighter than ever. The trauma had shaped her, yes, but it had also forged a strength that no one could take away. She had survived Rambo. She had survived abandonment, betrayal, and fear. And now, she would survive everything else the world had to offer—on her own terms.