The plane rumbled violently, jolting Stella in her seat. She gripped the armrest tightly, her knuckles turning white as the turbulence grew worse. Her heartbeat quickened when the cabin lights flickered, casting eerie shadows around the space.
"Seems like there's a lot of turbulence," she muttered, trying to steady her breath. She wasn't usually nervous during flights, but something about this felt… wrong.
Simon, who had been watching her intently, unbuckled his seatbelt. His sharp instincts had already kicked in. He could sense the shift in the atmosphere, the subtle change in pressure that had nothing to do with the weather.
"I'm going to check what's going on," he said firmly. He reached out, giving her hand a quick squeeze. "Don't move. Stay right here."
Stella nodded, though unease prickled at her skin. She watched as Simon moved with practiced confidence, disappearing through the narrow passage toward the cockpit.
The moment he stepped inside, his breath caught in his throat. The sight before him was like a nightmare unfolding in slow motion. Both pilots lay slumped over, their bodies unnaturally still, their throats slit open—dark crimson staining their uniforms. The metallic scent of blood filled the small space, thick and suffocating.
Simon clenched his jaw, his fists curling as realization hit him like a freight train. This wasn't just turbulence. This was a hijacking. And whoever was behind it had made sure there was no one left to control the plane.
His sharp eyes scanned the instruments—altitude dropping, pressure fluctuating. They were losing control.
He exhaled sharply, pushing down the seething rage threatening to boil over. Whoever orchestrated this attack had made a fatal mistake.
They thought they could take him down midair.
The plane was in freefall, alarms blaring through the cabin. Simon's sharp senses picked up a faint beeping sound amidst the chaos, and when his gaze snapped toward the source, his stomach dropped. A bomb.
No time.
Without hesitation, he rushed to the emergency exit, yanked it open, and the roaring wind threatened to pull him in. Grabbing a parachute, he bolted back inside, his mind working faster than his body. He reached for Stella, securing the harness around her in a rush.
"Simon—!" she gasped, realizing what he was doing.
"You need to jump," he commanded, tightening the straps. His voice was steady, but his eyes burned with urgency.
"What about you?" she demanded, her fingers digging into his arm.
"I'll be right behind you."
But she didn't move. Instead, she grabbed his face and pulled him into a desperate kiss, her lips trembling against his. It was fast, frantic—filled with a thousand unsaid words, a lifetime of love and fear compressed into a fleeting second.
"Go," he whispered, forcing himself to let go.
Before she could protest, he pushed her.
The wind carried her away as the parachute deployed, and she watched in horror as the plane grew smaller above her. She struggled to turn, to see him—he was right behind her, he had to be.
But then—
The explosion ripped through the sky.
The plane burst into flames, a violent fireball against the clouds. The force sent shockwaves through the air, and Stella screamed as she watched the wreckage scatter.
Her heart pounded wildly as she scanned the sky, desperate for any sign of him. But all she saw was fire and falling debris.
Simon was gone.
Stella struggled with the parachute straps, her trembling fingers barely working as she untangled herself. The moment her feet touched the ground, a deafening explosion echoed through the forest. She turned just in time to see the plane crash with a violent thud, flames consuming the wreckage as thick smoke billowed into the night sky.
A ringing filled her ears, distorting the world around her. The impact had shaken the very ground beneath her feet, and as she tried to take a step forward, her legs buckled. Black spots clouded her vision, but she forced herself to stay upright.
They had crossed into the U.S. borders. Help would come. But she didn't care.
Rescue sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder, but the only sound that mattered was the desperate pounding of her own heart. As the first responders rushed toward her, Stella didn't wait. She ran—her bare feet stumbling over roots and debris—her voice hoarse as she screamed his name.
"Simon!"
The wreckage burned, the metal twisted and broken, but she refused to believe he was gone. He had to be in there. He had to be alive.
Strong arms wrapped around her, holding her back as she thrashed against them, her screams raw and broken. "Let me go! Simon—he's still in there!"
The wreckage burned, the flames devouring what was left of the plane, but she refused to believe what her eyes saw. He couldn't be gone. He couldn't.
Then—a sharp sting at her neck. A tranquilizer.
Her body faltered, her strength slipping away as the sedative coursed through her veins. Hands guided her onto a stretcher, but she barely felt them. The flashing lights of the ambulance blurred, the voices around her becoming nothing more than distant echoes.
Her eyes fluttered, heavy and unwilling, fighting against the pull of unconsciousness. Her mind clung to one thing. One name.
Her lips parted in a whisper, fragile and desperate.
"Simon…"
Her eyes finally closed, swallowed by the darkness.
What she didn't know was that this darkness wouldn't fade. It would consume her, seep into every part of her life, filling it with an emptiness she would never escape.
Her world would never be the same again.