Luneshale Pass libertad en cadenas

Thiago's mind is a frenzied storm, thoughts colliding and breaking apart like the hot wind stirring the dust around them. His gaze darts to Beau, then back to the vast, unyielding landscape. His breath is quick and shallow, each inhale a battle against the tightening coil of panic inside his chest. The stranger's offer echoes in his mind—search together, find direction—but the words are muffled, muted by the relentless drumbeat of his need.

The name spills from his lips again, a fragile thing carried on the wind: @Juárez… His voice wavers, thin and brittle, like a thread stretched too far. He doesn’t know if Beau understands, doesn’t care if the stranger sees the raw edge of his desperation. His body aches with the hunger for relief, every nerve alight with the aching need for a hit of the drug.

His eyes dart back to the horizon, then to Beau, pleading without knowing how to bridge the gap between them.

Thiago circles the small pile of greenery, one hand clutching the garlic and berries possessively against his chest. He snarls low in his throat, like a cornered animal, eyes narrowing with suspicion as he measures Beau, trying to gauge the man's intentions. The withdrawal is starting to twist his thoughts, making every moment sharper, more painful, more threatening. He gathers them closer, clutching them like a lifeline, like some talisman that might ward off the gnawing void within him.

He takes a half step back, still unwilling to let go of the precious finds but uncertain of what Beau might do. The stalemate between them stretches, taut and uneasy, a silent standoff in the heat of the sun. His voice cracks as he tries one last time, a hoarse whisper, No entiendes… no entiendes… He knows it’s useless, knows that they’re trapped in this moment, two strangers with no way to reach each other.

His head jerks towards the horizon again, fear and frustration warring in his eyes. He feels the urge to run, to flee, to leave this pointless, maddening situation behind, but he cannot; he has nowhere to go, no direction but the one inside his head, the one word burning in his mind like a brand: Juárez.

Desperate, Thiago takes another step back, edging towards the direction he knows he must go, his eyes darting between Beau and the distant, empty expanse. He does not trust this man, but he cannot afford to linger, cannot afford the luxury of caution. Vete, he hisses again, a futile command to a man who cannot understand. He knows he has to move, even if it means dragging his starving, frayed body across the basin alone.