Page 120 of The Hunter's Empire

"I'll hold you to that."

Despite everything, I almost smile but the moment doesn't last. Another line of armed men pushes through the trees.

My breathing grows heavier with every passing minute. Sweat stings my eyes, and every step sends another jolt of pain through my ankle, but I refuse to let it slow me down. I grit my teeth, ignore the burning in my leg, and keep fighting.

"They just keep coming." I breathe.

Nico's eyes sweep across the clearing. "They've got us surrounded."

For the first time since the crash, doubt slips into my mind. We push one group back only for another to replace them, the circle around us growing tighter with every passing second. My arms feel heavier, my ankle weaker, and somewhere beneath the gunfire a quiet, terrifying thought begins to take shape.

Maybe this is how it ends. Not after finding whoever orchestrated all of this. Not after making it off the island. Just here, surrounded by strangers in a jungle that will swallow every trace we ever existed.

Then...

A ship's horn echoes across the island, deep enough to cut through the gunfire and shouting alike. The sound rolls over the battlefield, powerful and impossible to ignore. For a brief moment, everyone freezes. Even the attackers turn instinctively toward the shoreline.

Another horn follows, accompanied by the unmistakable roar of engines.

I force myself toward the edge of the clearing and peer through the trees. A large vessel is cutting toward the beach, and before it has even fully anchored, armed men begin pouring onto the sand in disciplined formation.

At their head walks a man I would recognize anywhere. Keith.

My breath catches. "Nico..."

He follows my gaze. "I see him."

Keith doesn't hesitate. He drives straight into the battlefield, moving with terrifying precision. Every strike is deliberate. Every movement ends with another attacker on the ground.Behind him, his team fans out through the jungle with ruthless coordination, forcing the remaining gunmen to split their attention before systematically overwhelming them. The effect is immediate.

A murmur spreads through the attackers. "The Butcher..."

Another voice repeats it. "It's him. The Butcher's here!"

Fear replaces discipline almost instantly. Several men break formation and run, while others hesitate just long enough for Keith's team to cut them down. Within minutes, the fighting is over, leaving only the sounds of heavy breathing and the distant surf beyond the trees.

Keith's gaze sweeps across the clearing until it lands on me. For the briefest second, relief softens his expression. Then his eyes take in the dirt covering my clothes, the bruises on my arms, and the bandage wrapped around my ankle.

He closes the distance in quick, determined strides. "Zora." His voice is steady, but I can see the concern he isn't bothering to hide. "Are you hurt?"

I manage the faintest smile. "I've looked better."

His eyes immediately drop to my ankle. "How bad is it?"

"It's just a sprain." I tell him, waving away the concern already forming on his face. "I'll survive. I've had worse."

Keith doesn't look convinced.

"You've lost weight." He says quietly.

"I've been on a very disappointing island diet."

The joke earns nothing more than a faint exhale.

Instead of answering, he steps forward and pulls me into a hug. Keith has never been particularly affectionate. Even as children, he had always shown concern through actions rather than words. That hasn't changed now. The embrace is brief, almost restrained, but I can feel the relief behind it. One hand settles carefully against my back while he keeps distance to avoid slightest brush on my injured leg, as though he's afraid of making anything worse.

When he finally steps away, he keeps one hand on my shoulder. "Don't ever do that to me again."

I blink. "I wasn't exactly planning on getting stranded."