Cassius's private messages exploded.
Kristen had sent over twenty texts.
They started with "Are you okay?"
Then a string of "Call me the second you see this!"
The last one was "I'm on a plane. Wait for me!"
Dakota's was even more direct: "If you die, I'm leaking that we slept together to TMZ."
Jennifer's was the longest—paragraph after paragraph that basically boiled down to: worried sick, terrified, already on the way to the airport.
Cassius rubbed his temples.
This was going to be messy.
"Cass!"
Vin Diesel walked up. "Convoy's ready. We're heading to the hotel."
After everything they'd been through, the two of them were on real friend terms now.
The armored convoy rolled out of the factory zone just as the sky started to lighten.
Cassius stared out the window.
The battlefield from last night was now under full military lockdown. People in different uniforms moved everywhere, caution tape stretched in every direction, and reporters were already trying to sneak past the lines for photos.
"Tomorrow's headlines are set," Paul said from the stretcher across from him, voice dry.
"More like the next week," Director Justin Lin added, still cradling his precious camera. "We own the news cycle."
The military had taken over an entire luxury resort.
Security was airtight—nothing bigger than a fly could get in.
Everyone went through full medical checks. Cassius came back clean except for some scrapes and mild dehydration.
After the exam they led him to a suite.
He opened the door and found three people waiting on the couch: the line producer, a Warner Bros. rep, and a middle-aged man he didn't recognize.
"Cassius, have a seat," the producer said. "This is Mr. Stevens from the White House Communications Office."
Cassius's stomach tightened.
The White House was involved?
"Relax, it's not bad news," Stevens smiled. "The President is personally following this situation. He wants to make sure every American citizen—and every international friend who contributes to our film industry—receives the very best care."
"We also want to use this moment to send a few positive messages."
"What kind of messages?"
"That America does not bow to terrorism. That America protects its own."
Stevens paused. "Hollywood is a vital part of American culture and will not be intimidated."
Got it. Political theater.
"The press conference is scheduled for three p.m.," the producer continued. "You, Vin, Paul, Gal, and Director Lin will all speak. We have prepared statements, but feel free to adjust as long as you don't go off-script."
"What counts as off-script?"
"Criticizing Brazilian security, questioning the speed of the rescue—anything like that," Stevens said bluntly. "We want to highlight that the Brazilian military responded quickly, U.S.-Brazil cooperation was outstanding, the crew showed incredible bravery, and good triumphed over evil."
Cassius nodded. He knew the drill. This was standard Hollywood main-character energy.
Back in his room he took the first real hot shower he'd had since filming started.
Standing under the spray, he closed his eyes and let the last twenty-four hours replay.
Gunfire. Explosions. Bodies. The raw instinct that kicked in when death was breathing down his neck.
That Street Vehicle Offense & Defense Instinct skill was even stronger than he'd realized. It hadn't just helped him fight—it had sharpened every survival sense he owned.
When he stepped out, he grabbed the new phone and started answering messages.
He called Kristen first.
She picked up on half a ring. "Cassius?"
"It's me. I'm okay."
The line went quiet for a few seconds, then came the sound of her trying—and failing—to hold back tears.
She cried for a full minute before managing, "I just landed. Three hours until I'm in Rio."
"You didn't have to come. I'm safe now."
"I need to see you with my own eyes."
Kristen's voice was steel. "Dakota and Jennifer are with me. We were all worried sick!"
Cassius's stomach dropped.
Three women. Same time. Same city.
This felt more dangerous than facing thirty gunmen last night.
He sent quick "I'm safe" texts to Dakota and Jennifer.
Both replied almost instantly with the same message: On our way. Wait for us.
At two p.m. Cassius changed into the suit the production had prepared.
Armani, perfect fit. They'd clearly planned ahead.
He studied himself in the mirror.
Dark circles under his eyes, but he looked steady. The bandage on his arm was hidden under the sleeve.
"Like a hero who just walked off the battlefield," he muttered with a wry smile.
Two-thirty. Everyone gathered.
Vin showed up in a sharp suit, bald head polished to a shine.
Paul's arm was in a sling, but he insisted on attending.
Gal wore a beige trench coat that hid her bandaged arm.
Director Justin looked the most wrecked, but his eyes were bright.
"Everyone," the producer gave final instructions. "Remember—we are a team. We survived. We are grateful to everyone who helped us. No blame, no complaints. Positive energy only."
"Understood," they all nodded.
Three p.m. Press-conference hall.
The second the doors opened, camera flashes hit like a lightning storm.
Cassius narrowed his eyes. The room was packed—CNN, BBC, Reuters, AP, Xinhua—every major outlet on the planet.
He followed the group onto the stage and sat in the chair with his name on it.
A forest of microphones waited in front.
The conference began.
First the Brazilian military spokesman gave the official timeline, then the U.S. representative, then the producer.
When it was the actors' turn, a half hour had already passed.
Vin spoke first, voice steady. He thanked the Brazilian and American rescue teams, praised the crew's unity, and ended with, "The movie will continue. We will not be stopped by violence."
When it was Cassius's turn he cleared his throat. "I want to thank everyone who risked their lives to save us, and I want to thank my fellow cast and crew. Last night every single person showed extraordinary courage. To everyone who was worried about us—I'm here to say we're okay. We're going to turn this experience into art and bring it to audiences everywhere."
The Q&A was brutal.
"Is it true the attack was retaliation against the production?"
"Were there security lapses?"
"Will this delay the movie's release?"
The press conference ran a full hour.
When it finally ended, Cassius stepped out of the hall and was immediately stopped by a staffer. "Mr. Cassius, there are visitors waiting for you in the VIP lounge."
His stomach tightened again.
He opened the door and saw three familiar faces.
Kristen rushed forward and wrapped him in a crushing hug.
Dakota stood behind her, arms crossed, expression saying You better not be dead.
Jennifer's eyes were red. She looked like she wanted to hug him but was holding back.
Three women. Three different emotions.
Cassius suddenly felt that last night's gunfight might have been the easier part.
The room wasn't small, but right now it felt tiny.
Kristen was still squeezing him so hard his ribs ached.
Cassius glanced at the three of them and realized he had about three seconds before the situation detonated.
He took a breath, brain spinning, and spotted Kristen's assistant Emma waiting awkwardly in the corner.
"Emma!" Cassius opened his arms, voice full of gratitude and exhaustion. "God, it's good to see you! You came all this way with Kristen—thank you for worrying about me."
Emma froze like a deer in headlights.
She was just an assistant. A paid employee.
This was not in the job description.
But Cassius was already pulling her into a quick, polite friend hug—hands on shoulders and upper back only, three seconds max.
When he let go he kept his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eye. "Seriously, thank you. Kristen's lucky to have you."
Emma opened her mouth. No sound came out.
Before she could recover, Cassius turned to Dakota.
Same routine, but warmer.
"Dakota!" He opened his arms. "You flying all the way here means the world to me. I'm so sorry you were worried."
Dakota had been stressing for days. She stepped straight into the hug and held on tight.
This one was noticeably longer and tighter than the one with Emma.
Cassius felt her shoulders shake—she was crying.
He patted her back gently and whispered, "Thank you for coming. Really."
Dakota stiffened for a second, then relaxed.
She finally pulled back, wiped her eyes, and forced a light tone. "Ellie was worried sick. This hug is from her too!"
Last was Jennifer.
The usually loud-and-proud Big Cousin actually looked shy.
"Come here, Big Cousin," Cassius said with a grin. "Give your brother-in-law a proper hug."
When he wrapped his arms around her he could feel her trembling.
When they separated Jennifer managed a shaky smile. "We're family, right? If my brother-in-law doesn't make it, my Big Cousin status loses half its value. The whole crew made me come check on you—they're all waiting for you to get back to work!"
The three women glanced at each other, then quickly looked away.
Cassius let out a silent breath of relief.
The risky play had worked.
He stepped back, giving everyone breathing room, and clapped his hands. "Since you're all here, let me play host. Rio isn't my city, but I've been filming here for months—I know the good spots. Tonight's on me. Real Brazilian churrasco. Vin, Paul, Director Lin, Gal, the whole crew. Call it a 'we survived' party."
Kristen nodded first. "I'm in."
Dakota shrugged. "No objections."
Jennifer wiped her eyes and smiled. "Sounds perfect."
"Settled!" Cassius told the waiting staffer. "Book the best churrascaria in town. Private room, full buyout. Put it on my card."
Seven-thirty p.m. The city's top churrascaria was completely reserved.
The long table was packed: Vin Diesel, Paul Walker, Director Justin Lin, Gal Gadot, the producer, Harper, Rafael, plus Kristen, Dakota, Jennifer, Emma, and the rest of the main cast and crew.
Meat sizzled on the grills. The smell of perfectly cooked beef and chicken filled the air.
Waiters poured caipirinhas nonstop.
The beginning was a little stiff—three of Cassius's women sitting at the same table was rare even by Hollywood standards.
But after a few rounds of drinks the mood loosened.
Vin raised his glass toward Cassius. "If it wasn't for you last night, a lot of us might not have made it. To the man who kept us alive."
Paul lifted his glass too. "Cass, I owe you my life. I know that sounds corny, but I mean it."
"Same," Gal said. "When you jumped out with me, I thought you were either crazy or a hero. Turns out you're both."
Cassius laughed and shook his head. "Stop. Anyone would have done the same in that situation."
"Not everyone would have done it that well," Director Justin cut in. He was already a little drunk, face flushed. "Cassius, the footage I reviewed from the camera? That could go straight into the movie. Real reactions, real eyes—acting can't fake that."
The table went quiet for a beat.
Then Dakota laughed softly. "Director, are you giving him more scenes?"
"Fast & Furious 6—Cassius Zhen's role just got bigger," Justin said seriously. "He earned it."
The producers around the table nodded in agreement.
Under the table Kristen gently touched Cassius's hand.
He turned and saw pride and worry in her eyes.
Jennifer sat across from them, quietly eating, but she kept glancing at him with soft, complicated looks.
From last night until now Cassius's nerves had been stretched wire-tight.
Shooting. Dodging bullets. Commanding escapes. Handling the press conference.
Every step had been on a tightrope.
Now they were safe. Everyone was alive. Hot meat was on the table and cold beer was in his hand.
"Let's drink!" Cassius stood and raised his glass. "To being alive!"
"To being alive!" everyone echoed.
Glass after glass.
Cassius normally didn't drink much, but tonight he let loose.
Caipirinhas mixed with beer hit hard and fast.
Paul's face was bright red. He started recounting the night. "You should've seen Cass jump from the second floor, roll, come up shooting—those moves were cleaner than half the stunt team!"
Vin nodded. "I was watching from the window thinking, who the hell is this kid? Ex-Special Forces? Former CIA?"
"I'm just an actor," Cassius slurred, then took another long pull.
"You're one hell of an actor," Harper said, already drunk. The normally stoic security chief had his arm around Rafael's shoulder. "Rafael says your instincts are scary accurate!"
Plates of meat kept coming. Bottles kept emptying.
The restaurant filled with samba music—hot, passionate, the total opposite of last night's gunfire, yet somehow just as heart-pounding.
Kristen came over and sat beside him. "Slow down. You're still hurt."
"I'm fine!" Cassius waved her off. "Tonight we celebrate."
Dakota wandered over with her own drink, looking down at him. "If you pass out, nobody's carrying you back."
"I'll just sleep on the couch here," Cassius grinned up at her. "Looks comfy."
Dakota rolled her eyes.
A group of people who had just cheated death drank like there was no tomorrow.
Cassius was the first to go down.
The ceiling started spinning. Candlelight blurred into glowing halos.
He heard muffled voices: "He's out."
"Let him rest."
"Should we get him back to the hotel?"
"Wait—give him a minute—"
When he woke up, most of the restaurant had cleared out.
Only Vin, Paul, and a few crew members were still in the corner talking in low voices.
Cassius opened his eyes. His head felt like it was splitting open.
"You awake?" Kristen's voice came from beside him.
He turned and saw her sitting in the chair next to him. Dakota and Jennifer were gone.
"Where'd they go?" he asked, voice rough.
"Back to the hotel," Kristen said, handing him a glass of water. "Dakota has an early flight to New York tomorrow. Jennifer's agent is pushing her to finish reshoots."
Cassius drank the water in one long gulp. "And you?"
"I took a week off," Kristen said, helping him up. "Come on, I'll get you to your room."
Cassius leaned on her as they walked out.
Vin spotted them and waved. "See you tomorrow, hero."
"Tomorrow," Cassius answered weakly.
This was the first time he'd ever passed out from drinking.
Outside, the night breeze helped sober him a little, but the headache got worse.
Feels like I drank fake liquor, he thought.
In the car Kristen held his hand the whole ride and didn't say a word.
When they reached the hotel room door she pulled out the key card. "Stay in my room tonight. Easier for me to look after you."
Cassius didn't argue. He and Kristen had been apart for months.
Inside, Kristen helped him out of his jacket and guided him to the bed.
"Want a shower?"
"Later. Let me lie down first."
He collapsed onto the mattress and closed his eyes.
The last two days replayed in flashes—gunfire, explosions, bodies, the raw survival instinct that had kept him alive.
He felt like he woke up a dozen times during the night.
Every time, Kristen was right there beside him, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
This chapter of his life had been insane.
But lying here, safe, with Kristen watching over him, Cassius felt something he hadn't felt in a long time.
He felt home.