Chapter 3 — A Desperate Pact
Jack
The sharp clang of the cell door locking behind Duarte echoed through the suffocating silence he left in his wake. Jack Rivers leaned against the cool concrete wall, the rough texture pressing into his back as his gaze settled on Amelia Hart. She stood near the barred window, sunlight slicing through to catch her auburn hair, now escaping its practical ponytail in stubborn wisps. Her jaw was set, her arms crossed tightly, and her fingers tapped absently against her bicep—the only sign betraying the strain she clearly didn’t want to show. Jack had seen that kind of resolve before: the kind that burned so hot it blinded people to danger, the kind that lit a path straight to the grave.
“You’re thinking,” Jack said finally, his voice casual. He kept it light, trying to diffuse the tension pressing against the walls. “And dangerous thinking, by the looks of it.”
Amelia didn’t answer at first. She stood stiffly, her hazel eyes fixed on the faint streaks of sunlight cutting through the bars. Finally, she turned to him, her voice low but steady. “He’s afraid of something. That much is clear.”
Jack raised an eyebrow, tilting his head. “Afraid of you? Hate to break it to you, but Duarte doesn’t exactly scream ‘easily rattled.’”
“He wouldn’t have come down here himself unless he felt threatened,” she shot back, her words clipped. “Men like him don’t waste their time unless there’s something worth protecting. He’s trying to scare us off because we’re close to something.”
Jack let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he pushed off the wall. He paced the narrow cell, boots scuffing against the grimy floor. “You’ve got a real knack for throwing yourself into the fire, don’t you?”
Her eyes flashed with irritation. “I’m not reckless.”
“You’re not careful either.” He stopped pacing, folding his arms across his chest. “Look, I get it. Duarte’s a bastard, and he’s clearly up to his neck in something nasty. But whatever he’s hiding, it’s not worth getting yourself killed over.”
Her gaze locked with his, sharp and unyielding. “What do you suggest? That I just pack up and go home? Pretend I didn’t see the poisoned rivers? The missing villagers? That’s not who I am.”
Jack smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, I already figured that part out. But here’s the thing, Hart: you can’t take him down if you’re dead.”
She didn’t flinch, but he saw it—that faint flicker in her eyes, a crack in the armor she wore so tightly. She turned away, her fingers brushing absently over the silver pendant at her neck. The motion was instinctive, almost tender, before she stilled her hand. Jack’s gaze lingered on the pendant. It was polished smooth from years of wear, and the way she touched it made him wonder. Sentimental. Maybe even sacred, judging by how tightly she clung to it.
“This isn’t just about me,” Amelia murmured, her tone softening. “This is bigger than either of us.”
Jack studied her, his blue eyes narrowing. He recognized that weight—the way it pressed down on her even as she stood tall. He’d felt it himself, carrying guilt like an iron chain. He’d seen it before too, in colleagues who didn’t make it back. And he realized then that no threat, no warning, was going to stop her.
He sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair. “All right, then. If you’re hell-bent on playing hero, we’re going to need to get out of here first. Got any brilliant ideas?”
Amelia turned back to him, an eyebrow arching. “I was hoping you had one. You’re the photographer—don’t you have some kind of knack for slipping out of tight spots?”
“Usually,” Jack admitted, a wry edge creeping into his tone. “But those tight spots don’t usually involve me sitting in a cell with no camera and no connections. Unless you’ve got some kind of miracle tucked into that pendant of yours?”
Her lips twitched, not quite a smile, but close. “No. But the guard who brought me in mentioned something about foreign tourists being treated differently. Something about keeping up appearances for the government.”
Jack tilted his head. The pieces clicked together. “Special treatment. As in, they’re more likely to let us go if we’ve got the right story?”
She nodded, hesitant but hopeful. “It’s worth a shot. If we can convince them we’re not a threat—just tourists here for a… personal reason—they might let us go.”
Jack’s smirk returned, and his blue eyes sparked with mischief. “Personal reason, huh? What, like two starry-eyed newlyweds here on a romantic honeymoon?”
Amelia shot him a withering look. “I said convincing, not absurd.”
“Think about it,” Jack pressed, undeterred. “They’re not going to expect a married couple to be digging into illegal mining. We play up the ‘innocent tourists’ angle, and it gives us cover. Buys us time to figure out our next move.”
She hesitated, clearly weighing the idea. Her jaw tightened, her fingers brushing the edge of her pendant again. “That’s assuming they don’t already know who we are.”
“Then we make sure they don’t,” Jack said simply. He leaned back against the wall, watching her carefully. “It’s not a perfect plan, but I don’t see you suggesting anything better.”
Amelia’s lips pressed into a thin line, her hazel eyes narrowing as she studied him. Finally, she let out a slow breath, nodding reluctantly. “Fine. But we’ll need paperwork to back it up. And we’ll have to keep our story straight.”
Jack grinned, throwing her a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am. Don’t worry—I’ve always been great at improvising.”
“Let’s hope you’re as good at acting as you are at taking pictures,” she muttered, though a faint smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.
“Trust me,” Jack said with a wink. “This is going to be the performance of a lifetime.”
The sound of footsteps approaching the cell snapped them both to attention. Jack shot Amelia a quick, meaningful look, and she nodded, her expression already shifting into something softer, more convincing. The door creaked open, and a guard stepped inside, his stern gaze sweeping over them. His uniform was crisp but faded at the edges, and the sharp glint in his eyes hinted at both suspicion and authority. He barked an order for them to stand.
Jack plastered on his most disarming smile, stepping forward. “Officer,” he began, his tone warm and polite, “I think there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding. My wife and I—”
“Honeymoon?” the guard interrupted sharply, his suspicious gaze flicking between them.
Amelia stepped forward, her hands clasped nervously in front of her. “Yes. We… we’re here on our honeymoon. We didn’t mean to cause any trouble. We were just trying to take some pictures for our trip.”
Jack moved to her side, placing a hand on the small of her back with a practiced ease that caught her slightly off guard. She stiffened, just for a moment, before relaxing into the role. “We thought this was a safe place to visit,” he added, his voice carrying just the right mix of embarrassment and sincerity. “We didn’t realize we were breaking any rules.”
The guard’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized them. The silence dragged, oppressive and heavy, as he flipped through their passports with deliberate slowness. Jack fought to keep his expression neutral, even as his pulse pounded in his ears. He could feel Amelia’s tension beside him, her breathing hitching just slightly, like a taut thread ready to snap.
Finally, the guard handed back their documents, his expression unreadable. “You’re free to go,” he said gruffly. “But stay out of trouble. And stay away from anything… sensitive.”
Jack nodded enthusiastically, his grin widening. “Absolutely. Thank you, officer. We’ll be on our best behavior.”
Amelia offered a polite smile as well, though Jack could see the strain in her posture as they were escorted out into the humid chaos of the street. The moment they were clear, she turned to him, her glare sharp enough to cut.
“Performance of a lifetime, huh?” she muttered.
Jack chuckled, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Hey, it worked.”
“For now,” she said grimly. “But if we’re going to pull this off, we’re going to need more than a good story.”
Jack’s grin faded, replaced by something more serious as he glanced at her. “Then I guess it’s time to figure out our next move.”
Amelia didn’t answer, her hazel eyes scanning the crowded street ahead. Jack followed her gaze, his own resolve hardening. Whatever came next, they were in it together now—whether they liked it or not.
