Chapter Text
The fire burned low, glowing faint in the chill of the desert dawn.
They were camped in the middle of nowhere , miles of wind-swept Moroccan sand stretching out in every direction, the dunes shaped like soft waves frozen in time. The night had been long. Bitter. Silent. JJ’s absence hung over them like a storm that never quite passed.
Around the fire, the others slept — or tried to. Kiara curled on her side, arm tucked under her head, eyes twitching behind closed lids. Pope and Cleo shared a blanket, both still, both breath steady. Rafe lay apart, a rifle cradled loosely against his chest, legs outstretched, face turned from the light.
John B hadn’t slept.
He sat close to the fire, knees up, fingers interlocked, his eyes red from smoke and something deeper. Sarah was beside him, wrapped in a heavy blanket, her face pale and drawn in the flickering light.
She shifted suddenly, pressing a hand to her mouth.
“Hey,” John B said softly, turning toward her. “You okay?”
She shook her head, already standing — barefoot, blanket falling away as she stumbled toward the edge of the camp, one hand clutched over her stomach.
“Sarah—?”
Then he heard her gag. The dry heave echoed faintly through the still air. A moment later, he was up and next to her, hands on her back as she bent over in the sand.
She vomited hard, then again, shaking, sweat prickling her forehead despite the cold.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, steadying her. “Just breathe. I’ve got you.”
When it was over, she stayed crouched, panting, arms wrapped around her middle like she could protect the baby from what her body was doing. John B crouched beside her, a hand on her shoulder.
“That’s the third morning in a row,” she said finally, voice raspy. “It’s getting worse.”
He swallowed the panic rising in his throat. “We should’ve gotten you checked out already. We should’ve—”
“No,” she cut in gently. “We’ve been surviving. That’s all we could do. But now...”
She looked up at him, and for a second, she looked more scared than he’d ever seen her — even more than when they were running for their lives in the Outer Banks, even more than the night they lost JJ.
“I don’t know how far along I am. I don’t know if this is normal. I don’t know if the baby’s okay.”
John B felt it hit then, like a wave he couldn’t duck under.
JJ was gone. And for all the rage boiling in his chest about that, this was different. This was immediate. Real. Right in front of him, retching in the sand, was the person he loved most , carrying their child and he was watching her fall apart from the inside out.
“We have to leave,” he said suddenly, firmly.
Sarah turned to him, blinking. “What?”
“We’re done here,” he said. “Morocco, this fight, Groff — all of it. At least for now. We get to Portugal. We find a doctor. We find out what’s going on with you. With the baby. Before anything else.”
He paused, then added quietly, “We have too much to lose.”
She nodded, slowly. The decision felt like a breath she hadn’t known she was holding.
“Lisbon?” she asked.
“Or maybe Faro. Find a clinic, somewhere safe to get you seen to.”
She looked toward the horizon, where the sky was beginning to lighten — that soft desert gold that turned everything to glass.
“We plan today,” she said.
John B nodded, his jaw tightening.
“Then we go.”
He helped her up, steadying her when she wobbled. She leaned into him, letting her weight settle against his side, and for a long moment they stood like that, two kids too young to carry what they carried, and too stubborn to let it crush them.
They turned back to the fire together.
The others still slept, the last fragile peace before another shift in the storm.
But John B saw it clearly now. The mission could wait. Revenge could wait. Groff would get what he deserved in time.
But Sarah?
Sarah couldn’t wait.
Neither could the life growing inside her.