Page 90 of California Wild

He powered it up.

The screen came alive slowly. Apple logo. Loading.

The second it blinked on, the notifications flooded in—calls, emails, texts, group threads, updates he didn’t want. But he wasn’t looking for any of it.

Just one name.

Hayley.

His stomach twisted.

But before he could even check—before he could open the thread—his mind turned on him.

Week five.

They’d found the camp after completing the primary objective. Small. Hidden. Burned out and reeking of blood. They weren’t supposed to find anything else. But they did.

Civilians.

Or what was left of them.

And one kid—small, dark-eyed, shaking, clutching a blood-soaked stuffed animal like it could keep the world out. He couldn’t have been more than seven. Eyes too old. Mouth clamped shut. The kind of silence Jesse recognized in his bones.

The navigator had said there was nothing they could do. Aid workers would be there soon. The kid was in shock. Best not to interfere.

So Jesse had walked away.

And he’d been hating himself for it ever since.

That look on the boy’s face—the disbelief, the detachment, the deep, echoing loss—that look had followed Jesse out of the jungle. It followed him still.

Just like his own reflection had the night he called 911 for his mother. The same expression. The same hollowness.

Survival didn’t mean a goddamn thing.

His phone buzzed.

He blinked. Focused.

A text.

Hayley.

His chest tightened. Hands still dirty. Still smelling like jungle sweat and death. He opened it anyway.

Hey.

Are you home?

Two lines. That was it. After all this time.

He stared at the words like they were a trap. Like they might disappear if he blinked too hard.

His thumbs moved before his brain caught up.

Yes. Come. Now.

He hit send.

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