The air felt heavier as we left George's compound behind. It wasn't just the humidity or the heat; it was the weight of everything George had told us. The sea port. A supposed safe zone. It sounded like a fairy tale, too good to be true, but what choice did we have? At least it was a direction, a plan, something to cling to in this godforsaken mess.
Alex walked ahead of me, his pace steady and deliberate, the map crumpled in his hand. I tried to match his stride, but my legs ached, and my steps were uneven. The wound on my leg was throbbing again, each step a painful reminder of how close I had come to not making it this far.
"You're falling behind," Alex said without looking back. His voice was flat, but I could hear the edge of impatience.
"I'm trying," I muttered. My breath came in short, ragged gasps. The tranquilizer from before might have worn off, but exhaustion had set in like a lead weight. Every muscle in my body screamed for rest.
