The steady beep… beep… beep of the monitor filled the ward. Cole lay half-upright, bandages wrapped tight around his leg and forehead. His face twisted in pain, though not all of it was real.Detective Harris stood at the foot of the bed, tall and sharp-eyed, every word he spoke was sharp like a blade. Detective Miller, shorter and rounder, wtote on a notepad.“Cole Luther,” Harris began, “we need you to walk us through that night. No detail is too small.”Cole swallowed, letting his voice tremble. “I’ve told you already. Everything… Everything happened so fast.”Harris didn’t blink. “Then tell us again.”Cole swallowed, his throat tight. “I told you already. We… we were hunting. Martin wanted it, he said we needed a break after the Texas deal.”Miller scribbled in his pad without looking up. “Go on.”Cole lowered his gaze, playing the role of the wounded brother. “I suggested we bring guards, at least one or two. But Martin laughed at me. He said the town was safe, that nothing could

The room was quiet, except for the slow sound of Martin's breathing as he lay on the small bed, body wrapped in bandages that had been changed so many times they no longer looked white. For thirty days, he hadn’t woken up. The fisherman leaned over him carefully unwrapping the cloth around his stomach. “You should’ve died weeks ago,” the fisherman muttered under his breath. “But you’re still fighting. You’re stronger than you look,” he murmured, pressing fresh herbs against the wound.The door opened and Taylor, his daughter, walked in with her arms folded. “Any change?” she asked flatly.The fisherman shook his head. “Not yet. But he responds to the herbs. His spirit wants to live.”Taylor snorted. “A month, Father. A whole month of hiding a stranger. What if someone finds out? Our neighbors talk too much. We’ll be dragged into trouble.” “If I’d left him,” the fisherman said, tightening the bandage, “he’d be bones on the riverbank. I couldn’t do that.” “You should have.” Ta

The morning sun burned unusually hot as Martin... now called Ryan...stretched in the yard. His once-bloated body was gone; muscle now lined his arms and chest. He leaned on his crutch, sweat dripping, breath steady. “You’re finally becoming a man of strength,” Elder Orso said, stepping out with a fishing net slung over his shoulder. His wrinkled eyes lingered on Martin’s frame with approval. “When I pulled you from the river, you were nothing but swollen flesh and broken bones. Now look at you.”Martin gave a small laugh, rubbing his stubbled jaw. “It feels strange, but my body listens to me now. I don’t know who I was before, but I doubt I ever looked like this.”The old man studied him. “You could pass for one of us now. Except that hair and beard, they grow wild.” He made a scissoring motion with his fingers. “A trim would make you presentable. I know there's an handsome face hiding behind all those hairs.”Martin shook his head, fingers brushing his beard. “No… I like this look.

Taylor has been different lately. Softer and warmer. Ever since Martin protected her from those thugs at the marketplace, her tone carried a little respect when she spoke to him. “I found this in your pocket,” she said quietly. “That day we rescued you.” She said as she handed him a folded rumpled picture. Martin frowned when he saw it. His rough fingers trembled as they touched the faded edges. The picture was old, bent at the corners, the face of a child staring back at him with wide eyes. Something inside him shifted immediately. “I… I know this face,” Martin whispered, pressing the photo closer. His voice shook. “But it’s blurry. I can’t… I can’t see clearly.” Taylor studied him, her eyes lingering. “Maybe New York will help. You know how they say a new environment does wonders to one's health?" Martin looked up, startled. “New York?” “Yes,” she nodded. “I’ve got an interview there, a real chance to make something out of my life. But I can’t go alone… I need you with me.

The room in the hotel they had paid for was small, its single bulb flickering weakly. Taylor shut the door behind them and tossed the bundle of cash on the rickety table.Martin’s jaw tightened. “You shouldn't have taken that. Why did you take it?”Taylor blinked at him. “Taken what? Money? That’s what it is, Ryan. Money. Exactly what we don’t have.”“It’s not about money,” Martin snapped, pacing with his walking stick. “Didn’t you see the way he looked at you? That man isn’t helping you. He’s hungry for something else and you're too naive to see it.”Taylor let out a sharp laugh. “Hungry? Martin, he’s a CEO, not some street thug like we have back in Texas. You’re reading too much into this.”“I’m not. You didn’t see the way he looked at you,” Martin said, stepping forward. His knuckles whitened on the walking stick. “You think he gave you all that out of kindness? No. Men like that always want something.”Taylor frowned, folding her arms. “Bait? You’re impossible. A wealthy man sees