𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐒 𝐒𝐎 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓 ➝ 𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧

𝟒𝟏. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍.

That's something that my mom always told me. Yes, she would always let me get my hopes up, and yes, she would always comfort me if my plans didn't work out. She was always there, and now I'm trying to be there for her, in any way that I can be. 

Her words strung through my head like a melody on repeat. "You can always have your hopes up, and you can always believe, but just remember that nothing is certain until it's set in stone," 

When I was young –or naive, which is what my father would say– the comment would always blow past me, almost like it went in one ear and it the other. But now that I was looking at it through the perspective I have now, I realized that the only way to save my family, to save my friends, was to get the gold. 

Nothing was set yet, which means that Ward better hold on to it tightly because we're not leaving empty-handed. 

"You sure he got everything?" I asked, trying to pry myself away from my thoughts. 

"Every bar," John B grumbled, "The whole enchilada," His dirt-covered, navy cast slipped off of his wrist with a hard pull. A soft grunt escaped his lips as he wiggled his hand, trying to get used to the unfamiliar feeling. "It's not like I expected a happy ending or some shit," He added as he threw the cast across the dock. 

"John B..." Kie began as she leaned up, worry flashing through her eyes. 

"What, Kie?" He questioned, a hint of frustration lacing through his voice. "It's a hairline fracture, who cares?"

"You should care. Your arms gonna be messed up for life," She replied as JJ passed me the blunt. I took a small hit, trying to relax.

"It's fine, see," He reassured in a monotone voice, his fingers wiggling. 

I stared out into the ocean, the crisp waves bouncing against the rocky shore, pulling back dead leaves and twigs. I could see boats floating in the distance, with teens or adults driving, smiles plastered on their rosy cheeks. 

"Guys!" A voice screamed as footsteps clomped against the old wood. "Guys!" Pope panted as he ran closer. I could see his dress shirt drenched in sweat, while his face looked just as worse. "Oh, God. I ran all the way here," He gasped, hands placed on his knees as he heaved, his back arched.

"You alright?" I questioned with a look of concern covering my features. 

"How was the interview, Pope?" JJ added, his knees pulled into his chest as he leaned against one of the large pillars.

He took a deep breath, "Don't ask," 

John B looked away, eyes focusing back on the sky, "Awsome," He muttered. 

"Look, John B," Pope began, "I'm sorry, dude, about everything,"

"It's fine,"

"But... but I don't have a lot of time, and... and I have information that is tactically relevant," I rolled my eyes softly, the thought of surrendering broad in my mind. "So, before I had my interview, my dad said he was going down to the private airstrip to cut palms for Cameron's big plane. Because it was too heavy, it needed a longer landing strip to take off. So, I'm there sitting in my interview, thinking to myself, 'Hm. Why would Cameron need a longer airstrip to take off? What could be so heavy to weigh it down?'" 

My eyes flickered towards Pope as the rest of the group realized where he was going. "Gold," I stated with a curious look on my face. 

"Exactly, Y/n," Pope exclaimed, "Guys, this is our chance, but it leaves tonight, and we have to go!"