Since yesterday afternoon, Felicia had worked nonstop—first delivering supplies to Hillfort, then searching the mountains for Lucas, then falling into the rapids, and finally arriving here. Utterly drained, she summoned her remaining energy, waving branches and jumping to signal the helicopter above.

Her efforts paid off; the helicopter circled twice before slowly descending. Relief washed over her as she watched. She stepped back as it landed on a large, flat area by the stream. Several of Stephan's men jumped out—Felicia recognized them from outside Macey's house the other night. Seeing her, they greeted her politely, bowing slightly. "Hello, Ms. Fuller."

Their sudden respectfulness took her aback. "Hello," she replied. Their previous indifference had been replaced by unmistakable warmth and deference. What had happened? Shrugging it off, she pointed to the small cabin. "Stephan's in there. Go help him." "Understood," they responded.

The men hurried over, their jaws dropping despite having braced themselves at the sight of Stephan. His dirt-smeared, ripped clothing, and the absence of his shoes, were a look they'd never imagined possible for their boss. Even his pale, injured face couldn't diminish his sharp, commanding gaze. One look from him made them avert their eyes out of respect.

"Mr. Russell," they greeted him, heads lowered.

He rose, glancing at the still-burning fire. One man immediately rushed to extinguish it before leaving.

Felicia had already climbed into the helicopter. As Stephan boarded, he saw her rummaging through supplies. "Found it!" she exclaimed, pleased. She pulled out a medical kit. "Lift your shirt. Let me treat that wound."

Yesterday, cleaning his wounds had been impossible; they had barely stayed warm huddled near the fire. Now, with medical supplies, they could tend to his injuries.

He sat, lifted his shirt, and cooperated as she carefully unwrapped the bandage from his wound. She cleaned, disinfected, and applied fresh bandages. Neither spoke. Each of Stephan's men focused intently on their tasks, avoiding eye contact with them.

As the helicopter lifted off, its blades filling the air with a roar, Felicia worked silently. Then, unexpectedly, he asked, "Did you strip me of my clothes yesterday?"

She was speechless. The bottle of hydrogen peroxide slipped from her hand with a thud, a few droplets splashing onto her face. Quickly wiping them away, she looked up and said loudly, "What? I can't hear you!"

He held her gaze briefly before looking away, his tone neutral. "Nothing." "Oh," she replied.

She returned to treating his wound, but the helicopter's loud hum couldn't mask her rapidly beating heart. It thundered in her chest, each beat faster and louder, as if it might burst.