Fly glanced at the sleeping pair on the sand, and the grin turned mischievous. Shamrock caught it immediately, his own smile spreading in perfect sync.
“Once in a while the golden boy has a great fucking idea.” His teeth flashed in the moonlight. “On three?” Shamrock whispered.
“One,” Fly murmured.
“Two.”
“Three.”
They rose together, Fly moving silent and smooth, Shamrock with the wicked enthusiasm of a man who lived for trouble.
Shamrock scooped Bolt in a fireman carry with a grunt. “Jesus, Mary, and protein powder, he’s heavy.”
Fly hooked an arm under Than’s knees and back, lifting him with ease into the same hold. “Lucky for you, he’s all vanity weight.”
Than snorted awake mid-lift. “What—Fly?—?”
“Rise and shine, fucker,” Fly said cheerfully, as they began to run.
Bolt woke with a startled shout. “Why am I—? Sham! Put me down?—”
“I need more swim instruction, buddy!” Shamrock howled, barreling toward the surf.
Fly broke into a sprint, Than sputtering in his arms, already laughing, helpless and horrified.
The Pacific roared in welcome. The four of them hit the water at full speed, crashing through the surf in a tangle of limbs and profanity and unrestrained joy.
They were soaked, shivering, swearing, and laughing like fools beneath a sky that seemed too big for their hearts.
For the first time, Fly felt it settle deep, bone deep.
These are my brothers. This is my place. This is my future.
When the next wave hit, he let it carry them all.
Rapid City Regional Airport, Rapid City, South Dakota, one year later
The airport outside Rapid City hummed with a strange blend of excitement and sorrow, the kind of restless energy that gathered around departures. Ayla felt it long before she stepped inside. She had braced herself for this, the noise, the movement, the press of people. Back home, her world had been quiet. She’d studied for hours, spoken only when she needed to, and that silence had felt almost natural, almost safe.
But she knew what awaited her now. New faces. New expectations. People who would challenge her, misunderstand her, push her past every edge she’d drawn for herself. She was ready.
Her silence had never been about the absence of sound. It had been a refuge, a place she retreated to when life turned sharp and brutal. She carried that change in her bones now. She wasn’t the girl who had vanished into the jungle. She was the woman who had come back, shaped by survival, tempered by loss, choosing to re-enter a world that had once swallowed her whole. She came to find the voice that had gone quiet inside her, to let the survivor rise, to gather the courage it would take to leave behind everything that had been comfort and belonging in order to become something more.
Jet fuel drifted on the air, thin and biting, mixing with the scent of coffee from a stand near the windows. Ayla stood beside her duffel with her papers folded neatly in one hand, her chin tilted toward the horizon framed by wide glass panes. The sky looked enormous out here, a sweep of blue that seemed to open directly into the future.
She felt the thrum of it under her skin. Different from jungle heartbeat. Different from river breath. But alive. New.
The thought of flying alone to Great Lakes, Illinois and boot camp didn’t frighten her. It felt like the next rightful step, a place where she could forge herself sharper and steadier, the way Bear had before her and the way Than was preparing to do. Her family seemed woven into the Navy’s fabric, their lives braided through service and salt water, and she carried that lineage with a quiet pride. The ancestors had always been generous with their strong and stubborn children, sending warriors and guardians into the world when they were needed most. Ayla intended to honor that gift. She would make her mark, carve her place, and step into the service with her head high, a Locklear ready to claim her path.
A path to enlistment that had been forged in quiet determination. She earned her GED through the repatriation program, pushed through accelerated DoD-sponsored cyber courses, and spent long nights studying until the numbers and systems that once intimidated her began to open under her hands. When she sat for the ASVAB, she treated it like a doorway rather than a test and scored high enough to make her recruiter blink. Discipline came naturally. Focus came from survival. By the time her paperwork went through, she had already rebuilt herself into someone the Navy wanted, sharp, steady, resilient, and hungry for a future she chose on her own terms.
Nineteen. Unshakable. Ready.
People hurried past with roller bags and brisk goodbyes. None of it touched her. Not the noise. Not the motion. She stood rooted in her own stillness, the kind that came from surviving too much and refusing to break because of it. Noise still sat strangely in her bones, like a forgotten language she was relearning. The ocean waited somewhere past this last stretch of prairie. She could almost taste its salt on her tongue.
Her mother stood beside her, smoothing Ayla’s braid once before letting her hand fall. The gesture held decades in it. Fear. Love. Pride. Her Bolivian mother used to braid her hair too, humming stories Ayla could almost remember now.
“You sure this is what you want, baby girl?”
