𝗠𝘆 𝗘𝘀𝗰𝗮𝗽𝗲 ⇉ 𝗝𝗝 𝗠𝗮𝘆𝗯𝗮𝗻𝗸

𝘥 𝘦 𝘴 𝘦 𝘳 𝘷 𝘦

THE MOROCCAN sun was a relentless beast, each ray a fiery claw that clung to their skin, turning the desert into an oven. Ariella felt it most acutely; each step was a monumental effort, her energy sapping away like water in the scorching heat.

The sand burns through her shoes, a constant reminder of the unforgiving landscape.

Sweat plasters her hair to her forehead, blurring her vision, and each breath felt like inhaling fire.

She clung to JJ's side, his strong arm a lifeline as they trudge onward. He'd carry her when he could, but his own exhaustion was a visible weight, etched into the lines of his face.

Her hand instinctively went to her belly, a silent plea for the safety of her unborn child.

The fear was a cold knot in her stomach – what if she was pushing too hard?

What if something happened out here, miles from civilization?

What if something is wrong with her baby?

It was like being pregnant with Cora all over again.

"G-Guys." She manages to gasp, her voice raspy and strained. "I need to stop."

The word hung in the air, a desperate plea that shattered the rhythm of their march.

They stopped, turning to her with concern etched on their faces.

Ariella leans forward, hands braced on her thighs, each breath a ragged, desperate attempt to fill her lungs.

Sarah, mirroring her exhaustion, was steadied by John B, while JJ and Rafe hovered beside Ariella, their eyes scanning her pale face, ready to catch her if she falters.

"Come on, baby." JJ murmurs, his fingers fumbling as he tied her sweat-soaked hair into a ponytail. "We're almost there. I'll carry you the rest of the way—."

But Rafe was already shaking his head, his gaze fixed on Ariella's drawn face. "You can't, you're spent. I'll do it."

Ariella straightens, a surge of defiance masking her exhaustion. "No, I can walk. I don't want you guys getting even more tired. We're almost there."

But her body betrays her; a sudden wave of dizziness sent her stumbling backward, her feet losing purchase on the shifting sand.

Rafe's reflexes were lightning-fast.

He caught her, his strong arms scooping her up with surprising gentleness. JJ helps him settle her onto his back, and Ariella clung to her brother, burying her face against his shoulder, her eyelids heavy.

"If my calculations are correct, we should be coming to it soon, Ri." Pope's voice, usually so steady, was laced with a hint of desperation. "I promise."

"I trust you, Pope." She mumbles, her voice thick with fatigue.

And so they pressed on, the Pogues and Rafe, their faces grim, each step a prayer that Essaouira was just over the next dune.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧.𖡼

"There it is. My calculations were correct."

They finally pause, breathless and weary, Pope's words cut through the heavy air.

All eyes lift, drawn upward as if by an invisible string, to behold Essaouira.

The ancient Moroccan city rose before them, a vision in sun-baked stone and vibrant hues against the backdrop of the endless Atlantic.

Its walls, weathered by centuries of sea winds and whispered tales, stood as a testament to a history as rich and complex as the ocean it bordered.