Ayla wanted to go back. But Taryn had told her what to do. Even though she could barely breathe, she wouldn’t make her death meaningless by getting caught.
She ran until the jungle blurred.
Until the trees bled into the sky and her legs gave out and her world collapsed in green and ache and silence.
She thought she’d die there. She might have. But then the woman came, painted in ocher, hair in long black braids, wrinkles etched deep like river valleys, and eyes ancient and knowing.
She said nothing at first. She simply knelt beside Ayla’s broken body, placed a hand on her chest, and whispered something soft in a language she didn’t understand, and Ayla cried for the first time in days. But she didn’t speak at first; her voice had been lost to her. It wasn’t until three whole months had passed and the safety of these people wrapped around her. They sheltered her, fed her, clothed her, and loved her until she became what she was now.
A survivor.
Ayla blinked. The fire snapped back into focus. Dakota was still standing there, staring at her like the world had just split open. The beautiful woman stood behind him, her eyes wide and glistening.
Ayla stepped forward, the memories still raw under her skin. She screamed so loud birds took flight, monkeys jabbered about danger, and her tribes-people all halted what they were doing. “Dakota!” His name came out of her like a call for home, like her heart had found its desire, like she was no longer that survivor, but simply a sister. Then she was running.
He caught her on a sob, his arms closing around her so hard, she couldn’t take a breath. Slipping with her to his knees, he pulled her close, his harsh cries mingling with her own, rocking her against him, saying her name like a prayer, like a homecoming.
After all this time. She was found.
Bear couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Could only hold her.
Ayla shook in his arms, her nails digging into his back like she feared he might dissolve if she let go. She smelled like smoke and crushed herbs and the wild green of the jungle and, beneath that, the scent of home. The scent he remembered from when she used to crawl into his bed after nightmares, her hair smelling like Lala’s sweetgrass and river water.
He pressed his face into her hair and sobbed. Not quiet tears. Not contained.
His body broke open with every sound she made.
“Cha?té…” he whispered against her temple, using her childhood nickname, his voice shredded. “Blessed Ancestors. Ayla… baby girl, I thought— I thought?—”
“I’m here,” she cried. “Dakota, I’m here.”
Bailee’s breath hitched somewhere behind him, a hand over her mouth, tears falling unchecked. The tribal villagers looked on in reverent silence, understanding instinctively that something sacred, something ancestral, was being restored before their eyes.
Ayla cupped Bear’s face between her palms and pressed her forehead to his, the way their grandfather had taught them.
“Waníyetu wicháša,” she whispered. Winter man. The name she gave him when she was small because his quiet always reminded her of snow.
His throat tore open on a cry he couldn’t contain. “I came for you,” he said, voice raw. “I never stopped looking. Ayla, I swear to the Creator. I never stopped.”
She shook her head, tears streaking her cheeks. “I know. I know. I felt you in the jungle. In the earth. I thought it was my mind playing tricks but—” She swallowed, voice breaking. “It was you. It was always you.”
Bear pulled her close again, rocking her gently. “I’m not letting you go this time.”
“Good,” she whispered, clinging to him like a lifeline. “I’m so ready to go home.”
Bailee stepped closer then, slow and careful, her eyes soft and shining. Ayla looked at her over Bear’s shoulder, and something in her went still.
“You saved him,” Ayla whispered.
Bailee blinked. “No…he saved me.”
Ayla shook her head. “No. I know the way people look at my brother. The way they expect him to hold everything alone.” She reached out and rested her hand over Bailee’s heart. “But he doesn’t look like that with you.”
Bailee’s breath trembled out. “I’m honored to know you.”
Ayla smiled, small, tired, real. “You will.”
The rest of the team arrived fifteen minutes later, weapons low but eyes sharp. Flint barked once at the approach, just enough warning to keep the Tsimané calm.
