Amaya's pov 

 The cell is exactly as I remember.

 Eight by ten feet. Concrete walls. Single cot bolted to the floor. Metal toilet in the corner. A small window near the ceiling that lets in just enough light to know when it's day or night.

 I've been here for six hours. I know because I've been counting my heartbeats, using the rhythm to keep myself grounded. To remind myself I'm alive.

 To remind myself they're coming.

 The bond is stretched thin, but it's there. I can feel them—Alvaro's fury burning like wildfire, Javier's calculating determination, Luciano's steady resolve. They're not sleeping. Not resting.

 They're planning.

 The door opens. Hayes enters...