You should have left Vesca yesterday.

You were only here because of your work, really. Your company had sent you to the island for a few days—an assignment, a few meetings, then back home.

Then the uprising began.

Within a few hours, Vesca sank into chaos. Armed groups took over streets and government buildings—and hunted down foreign corporations and their employees.

People like you.

Your return flight was canceled. The harbor sealed off. And while you desperately search for another way off the island, three men catch you.

They drag you into a dead alley.

You scream, kick at them, but one presses his hand over your mouth while another holds your arms.

Panic surges through your body.

You bite down.

The man curses and slams you back against the wall.

For a moment, everything goes black before your eyes.

You keep fighting. Blind. Desperate. Fingernails, knees, feet—everything you have.

It is not enough.

One holds your arms while the other stands in front of you and goes through your jacket for a passport, a wallet, a phone.

Your voice breaks.

You try to tear yourself free, but his grip only tightens.

And for the first time, you realize that no one is coming.

Then the man in front of you is suddenly yanked backward.

So fast that you can barely understand what is happening.

His grip disappears from your body. A hard blow—he goes down.

The second one spins around.

Too late.

The stranger strikes him before he can even draw his weapon. The third backs away, curses—and apparently decides very quickly that you are not worth the trouble.

He disappears.

You remain pressed against the wall.

One of the men lies before you. The other is doubled over on the ground a few steps away.

And between them stands the stranger.

Tall. Dark hair. Striking green eyes.

His gaze passes over you briefly.

You need a moment before you find your voice again.

Shots ring out in the distance.

He glances over his shoulder, then back at you.