Page 103 of Gilded in Blood

As the captain walks away, Milana squeezes my hand.

Her phone starts ringing. She glances at the screen and smiles. “It’s Sarah.”

I nod toward the edge of the tarmac. “Go ahead.”

She walks a short distance away, answering the call with a bright, “Hey!”

I stay close enough to keep her in sight, far enough to give her a little privacy.

I watch her laugh at something Sarah says. Then… a deafening blast tears through the air behind me.

The ground shakes beneath my feet as a wall of heat slams into my back, followed by a violent shockwave that hurls me forward.

I hit the ground hard, the impact jarring every bone in my body. A loud static roar fills my ears, drowning out everything else.

Smoke and debris rain down around me as I try to push myself up, coughing, head spinning.

“Milana!” I shout, my voice sounding distant even to my own ears.

I stagger to my feet, the world tilting wildly for a few seconds before I regain my balance. My ears are ringing, vision blurry from the smoke.

“Milana!”

I hear her then, faint but there, calling my name through the static. “Kirill!”

I stumble toward the sound, heart pounding. She’s on the ground a few yards away, covered in soot and dust, just like me. I drop to my knees beside her, ignoring the pain in my joints, hands moving over her body, checking for injuries.

“Are you okay?” I ask, voice rough. “Are you hurt?”

She coughs, shaking her head. “I’m fine.”

I help her up, relief flooding through me when I see she’s not bleeding. No obvious breaks. Just bruises. We turn toward the airstrip, and my stomach drops.

The jet. Our jet, is engulfed in flames. What’s left of it is a burning wreck, black smoke billowing into the sky.

I know immediately. We’re in trouble.

I grab her hand. “We need to get out of here. Fast.”

She nods, still breathing hard. “Okay.”

I quickly check her again. “Can you walk? Are you hurt anywhere?”

She winces but shakes her head. “My body hurts, but I don’t think anything’s broken.”

I don’t waste another second. I pull her with me, and we start running away from the wreckage, heading toward the far side of the private airstrip.

The area is mostly open tarmac with a few smaller hangars and maintenance buildings scattered around. Beyond that, there’s a chain-link fence and then dense woods that border the property.

We sprint toward the nearest hangar, staying low, using whatever cover we can find, parked service vehicles, equipment crates.

My hand stays locked with hers the entire time. I can feel her pulse racing against my palm, but she keeps up.

The static in my ears is slowly fading, replaced by the sound of our breathing and footsteps. Sirens are already wailing in the distance. The emergency responders will be here soon. We need to disappear before they do.

After running for what feels like forever, we finally reach the main road. I flag down a taxi, waving my arms frantically. It takes a couple of tries before one finally stops.

The driver looks at us, covered in soot, disheveled, breathing hard, but I don’t give him time to question it. I shove Milana into the back seat and climb in after her.