Wilson didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched between them, sharp and suffocating, the weight of unspoken things pressing down harder than the heat rolling off the red earth beneath their feet. When he finally spoke, his voice was low but steady, carved from something colder than judgment.

“You think showing up here, telling me this, makes it easier to carry?” Wilson’s eyes didn’t soften. “You don’t get to hand off your guilt like it’s a favour.”

Elijah lowered his head, the words barely rising above a whisper. “I’m not trying to. I just… I’ve made too many bad choices, but this one… this one I can’t make. I don’t want to lose whatever’s left of me.”

For the first time, his voice broke completely, stripped of pride and excuses. “I don’t want to be that man anymore. I want a way out. I want to fix it. I just don’t know how.”

Wilson studied him for a long moment, his face unreadable, carved from years of hard living and harder choices. Then, with a sharp jerk of his head toward the boma, he spoke calm, measured, and carrying the quiet authority of a man who’d long since learned to bury sentiment beneath steel.

“Leave the keys. We’ll talk. But if you ever raise your hands to me again, Elijah, I’ll finish what we started.”

There was no bravado in the words, just simple truth, the kind that didn’t need sharpening. Wilson didn’t bluff, and both knew it.

Elijah swallowed hard, his throat tight, and gave a small, almost grateful nod.

No more words passed between them. They turned together, side by side, toward the boma, the old, weathered structure standing silent beneath the weight of the sun. The years had frayed the bond between them, worn it thin with anger, pride, and regret, but as they walked, there was the faintest suggestion, fragile as it was, that not all things were beyond repair.

Wilson led the way, shoulders squared and stride unshaken, still every inch the man Elijah had once followed without question. A leader shaped by scars, by hard truths, and by the quiet strength of a man who’d carried others long before he carried himself. And behind him, for the first time in years, Elijah followed.

***

Nyah retreated with a tight nod and a final glance toward the baby rhino. She turned and walked away her boots crunching against the path as she made her way back to her vehicle. The engine coughed to life, then faded into the distance.

“So,” Tina said softly, brushing a hand down the front of Bette’s shirt. “Now what?”

Bette exhaled slowly, her brow furrowed. “I’m unsure, Tina.”

Tina’s arms folded across her chest, her posture tense. “You think Chang would come after the foundation?”

Bette nodded once. “He’ll want to send a message. And he doesn’t care how many people have to bleed for it.”

Tina stepped closer, her voice low and firm. “Then we need to protect everyone here. The animals, the staff, Augustine. Angelica.”

At her daughter’s name, Bette’s stomach clenched. “We can’t just run, T. This is our work. Our lives.”

“I’m not saying we run,” Tina said. “But we need a plan. Extra security. Maybe warn the Task Force, get them out here.”

Bette nodded, already running through options in her head. Patrols. Surveillance. Contingency routes. “We’ll need all on board. And maybe a rotation for the staff… fewer people out alone.”

Tina reached out and took Bette’s hand, grounding her. “We’re not facing this alone, Bette.”

Bette looked at her, grateful for the calm in Tina’s eyes despite the rising threat. “I’ll talk to Nyah again. She’ll help where she can.”

Tina gave a small nod. “And we take care of each other. No lone hero stuff.”

Bette gave a tight smile. “No promises.”