"Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends."
— John 15:13
While Jack was fighting the two panthers on the other part of the island, the other group was debating what to do next.
Sena and Ashford were talking about Jack Hale's story before they were interrupted by the two professors asking what to do next.
Ashford's jaw was tight as he studied the jungle.
"We can't stay here. The beach is a grave waiting to be filled."
Professor Edmund Lancer, still wet from seawater, his pale face drawn, nodded quickly.
"He's right. This place is exposed. Raiders could return at any moment. Inland—" his voice cracked with feverish energy, "—inland lies the path we must take."
Ashford shot him a hard glare.
"Path to what? A stone ruin? I've seen that same look on Richard Hale. Professor Edmund, I'm talking about survival here, not your legends and myths."
Before Edmund could retort, Sena stepped between them.
"Enough," she snapped. "We can't waste time arguing. The men are shaken. They need direction, not bickering."
Her eyes swept across the sailors, many still trembling from the firefight.
She turned back to Ashford and her father, her voice sharp.
"We need water, cover, and high ground. That means we're heading inland. Father's ruins can wait until we're not exposed to every scavenger with a rifle."
Professor Edmund flinched at the rebuke, but Sena's words cut through the fog like steel.
From the edge of the group, Professor Lucien Marrow finally stepped forward. His coat was neat despite the wreck.
"Miss Lancer is correct. Higher ground will give us vantage, and the jungle offers shelter that the beach cannot. If we linger, we will invite another attack from the raiders."
He knelt in the sand, etching a crude shape with a stick—a map of their shoreline, cliffs, and the dense forest beyond.
"Here," he said smoothly. "We climb. From above, we can decide whether to push inland or circle the coast." His steel-gray eyes flicked briefly toward the group before returning to the drawing. "The choice is simple. We adapt, or perish."
Ashford studied him with a wary look. He didn't trust Marrow's calm and smooth attitude, even with carnage still around them. But the logic was undeniable. He gave a short nod, then looked to Sena.
"You'll keep your father and your friend safe?"
Sena squared her shoulders, one hand resting on her revolver.
"I'll keep them alive. That's more than enough."
Professor Edmund smiled faintly, tired pride in his eyes.
Professor Marrow snapped his pocket watch closed with a click, the serpent engraving glinting as the sun rose higher.
"Then we move," he said, voice cool and final.
The survivors moved in a ragged line, boots sinking into the damp earth as they walked through the jungle. The leaves pressed overhead, dripping rainwater, cutting the light into narrow beams.
Ashford took point, rifle braced across his shoulder, barking for the men to keep pace. He muttered under his breath once:
"Damn it, Hale… if you were here, we'd have another gun."
Sena stayed near her father, revolver loose in her grip, eyes never leaving the treeline. Evelyn trailed close, her once-bright gown now hacked shorter at the hem for easier movement, though it was torn and filthy. She supported a limping sailor as they climbed.
Professor Marrow followed at the rear, his steel-gray eyes flicking from shadow to shadow, ever watchful.
Then—
A gunshot cracked from the trees.
"Down!" Ashford roared. The survivors scattered, dropping crates and dragging the wounded behind roots and rock.
Figures burst from the foliage. Raiders again—lean, weathered men, rifles raised, machetes flashing. They shouted as they fired, their voices carrying hunger for plunder.
All of a sudden, the raiders threw something into their midst. Smoke bombs.
The jungle filled with choking haze. Sailors scrambled, rifles cracking as lead tore through bark and leaves. Men shouted in fear, some firing blindly through the smoke, others dragging the wounded behind the rocks.
Ashford dropped flat, rifle braced, barking over the chaos.
"Stop shooting blindly!"
Sena stayed low, her revolver gripped tight. The raiders fanned out like wolves. They fired in bursts, then rushed the crew in waves.
"Father, stay down!" she snapped. Edmund Lancer obeyed, clutching his satchel like his very soul was inside it.
But Evelyn wasn't near him.
Sena's heart froze.
"Evelyn?"
She spun just in time to see her best friend struggling in the grasp of a raider. His arm was locked around her waist, his other hand clamped over her mouth. Evelyn's eyes were wide with terror as she kicked and clawed, her yellow fabric tearing against the branches.
"Let her go!" Sena fired, the revolver's crack deafening.
The bullet grazed the raider's arm. He snarled, dragging Evelyn toward the trees. Two more raiders closed in, laying down covering fire. Bullets chewed bark and dirt inches from Sena's cover.
Sena's teeth clenched, fury burning hotter than fear.
Ashford spotted it too.
"Lancer! They'll take her deeper into the jungle—stop them before she's gone!" he shouted, firing at another raider about to throw more smoke.
Sena rose, revolver snapping off two shots. One raider fell, but the other kept pulling Evelyn back. Her screams cut through the smoke and chaos.
"No!" Sena charged.
A machete swung at her. She twisted, but the blade grazed her arm. Pain flared hot, blood welling. She slammed her climbing pick into the man's shoulder, yanking him down into the dirt. Blood sprayed, but she didn't stop.
"Evelyn!"
The raider, dragging her, fired a shot wildly over his shoulder. The bullet sang past Sena's cheek, but she didn't falter. Her revolver clicked empty.
She holstered it, drew the pick again, boots pounding through the sand.
Evelyn's voice broke through, desperate and pleading:
"Sena!"
Sena leapt, tackling another raider to the ground. They hit hard, rolling, his knife inches from her throat. Gritting her teeth, she drove her knee into his gut and ripped the blade from his grip.
But the raider holding Evelyn yanked her deeper into the jungle. The trees swallowed them both.
Evelyn's scream echoed through the smoke.
"Damn it!" Sena staggered upright, her cut arm throbbing, blood running down her sleeve. Chest heaving, she locked eyes on the trees.
Ashford shouted from behind, still keeping the sailors together:
"Lancer! Don't break off from the group!"
But Sena's gaze stayed fixed on the shadows where Evelyn's terrified cries were fading fast.
Her choice was already made.
She reloaded her revolver with shaking hands, slid it back into its holster, and bolted after them into the green wild.
The jungle closed around her, swallowing the sailors and Ashford's shouts.
Only the pounding of her boots and Evelyn's fading scream guided her now.