The journey passed quietly. Though they were safe, and their bellies full each day, the emotional toll of what they had endured lingered heavily. The group—twenty-two women and Jack—traveled like a silent procession, the air thick with unspoken sorrow.
Jack, always walking a few paces ahead, did not press them to speak. He understood the grief that followed in the wake of bloodshed.
While others might boast or offer hollow words of comfort, he let his actions speak for themselves: summoning warm meals each evening, clean water for drinking and bathing, and even soft mats for the women to sleep on.
None dared question his power now. Jack was not just a protector—he was something more. Something dangerous, if he ever chose to be.
