The Flight

The beam cut through the darkness, blindingly bright, but it stopped short of the armchair. Arthur cursed, sweeping the light across the empty space where Elena had been seconds ago.

"Show yourself," he hissed.

Elena was no longer behind the chair. She was under the bed, pressed flat against the dusty floorboards. She had moved in the split second he kicked the furniture, rolling into the only cover available.

"Check the bathroom," Victoria ordered, zipping the satchel. "We don't have time for this."

Arthur hesitated. He looked around the room one last time, his eyes lingering on the bed skirt. But the sound of the helicopter approaching—a low, rhythmic thumping that rattled the windowpanes—broke his focus.

"Fine," he said. He holstered the gun. "Let's go."

They left the room, footsteps retreating down the hall.

Elena scrambled out from under the bed. Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely push herself up. She ran to the window.

The helicopter was descending onto the lawn, its lights slicing through the night. The rotor wash flattened the grass, whipping the rhododendrons into a frenzy.

She saw the guards loading the children. Leo looked limp, his head lolling against the shoulder of the man carrying him. Sophie was struggling, kicking her legs, but she was too small to break free.

Elena felt a scream build in her throat, a primal sound of rage and terror. But she swallowed it. Screaming wouldn't save them.

She needed to be on that helicopter.

She grabbed the fireplace poker. It was heavy, solid iron.

She ran out of the bedroom, down the hall, and onto the back terrace.

The noise was deafening now. The helicopter was on the ground, the pilot signaling for them to board.

Arthur was already inside, buckling himself in. Victoria was handing the satchel to him.

Elena sprinted across the lawn. The wind tore at her dress, the velvet heavy and sodden with dew.

A guard saw her. He raised his hand, shouting something lost to the roar of the engine.

She didn't stop. She swung the poker.

It connected with his arm with a sickening crunch. He dropped his flashlight, clutching his wrist.

Elena kept running.

She reached the helicopter just as the door was sliding shut.

She jammed the poker into the track. The metal screeched. The door jammed.

Arthur looked up, his face twisting in shock.

"You," he shouted.

"Let them go!" Elena screamed over the engine noise.

She lunged through the gap, grabbing the handle of the satchel.

Arthur pulled back. "Get off!"

Victoria was standing on the skid, trying to push Elena away. "You ruin everything!"

"I ruin everything?" Elena yelled. "You poisoned my son!"

She kicked Victoria in the shin. The older woman stumbled, nearly falling off the skid.

Elena used the distraction to grab the door frame. She hauled herself up.

She was half in, half out.

Arthur reached for his gun again.

But the pilot, spooked by the struggle, pulled up on the collective.

The helicopter lurched into the air.

Elena's feet left the ground. She was dangling, holding onto the door frame with one hand, the poker still jammed in the track.

The ground fell away. Ten feet. Twenty.

"Push her!" Arthur screamed at Victoria.

Victoria grabbed Elena's wrist. Her nails dug into the skin.

"Let go, Elena," she hissed. "Let go and die."

Elena looked down. The lights of the estate were shrinking below her. The Gala was a distant constellation of fairy lights.

She looked at Leo, strapped into the seat behind Arthur. He was still unconscious.

"Never," Elena said.

She swung her legs up, hooking her ankles around the skid. She pulled herself in, tumbling onto the floor of the cabin.

She was inside.

Arthur pointed the gun at her head.

"Bad move," he said.

But before he could pull the trigger, the helicopter banked hard to the left.

"Warning!" the pilot shouted. "Warning! Obstacle!"

Elena looked out the window.

They weren't flying toward the airport. They were flying north. Toward the mountains.

Toward Serenity Hills.

"Where are we going?" Elena asked, breathless.

"To finish what we started," Arthur said, keeping the gun trained on her. "We need to pick up one last passenger."

Sebastian.

He was going to kill him. He was going to use the helicopter to dump the body in the mountains, along with Elena and the children. An accident. A tragedy.

"The Gala starts in an hour," Elena said, checking her watch. It was 9:00 PM.

"We have time," Arthur said. "It's a fast bird."

He smiled, a cold, dead expression.

"The facility is two hours away," he said. "We can be there and back before the speeches start."

Elena looked at the children. At the satchel with the drive. At the gun.

She was trapped in a metal box two thousand feet in the air with the people who wanted her dead.

But she was also with her children.

"Two hours," she whispered.

She looked at the pilot. He was focused on the instruments.

She looked at the control panel. The fuel gauge.

It was half full.

"You didn't refuel," she said.

Arthur frowned. "What?"

"The flight plan," Elena said. "You filed for a short hop. To the airport. You don't have enough fuel to get to the mountains and back."

Arthur looked at the pilot. "Is that true?"

The pilot tapped the gauge. "We have enough. Barely. If the wind holds."

"And if it doesn't?" Elena asked.

The pilot didn't answer.

Arthur turned back to her. "Then we make weight adjustments."

He looked at the open door, where the wind was howling through the gap.

"Starting with you."

The facility was two hours away. The Gala started in one.