Page 104 of Gilded in Blood

“Heathrow Airport,” I tell the driver. “Fast.”

“But–” the taxi driver tries to speak. Heathrow is hours away.

“Now!” I shout, throwing my phone out of the window and telling her to do the same.

Milana looks at me, eyes wide with fear. I can see the questions there, the panic she’s trying to hold back, but she obeys.

I want so badly to tell her everything is going to be alright. I want to pull her into my arms and promise her I’ll keep her safe.

But right now, I don’t even know who’s behind the explosion. Whoever it was wanted us dead. And they almost succeeded. Thank god I always have my burner phone on me.

When we arrive at Heathrow, I pay the driver quickly and take Milana’s hand, pulling her with me into the terminal.

We head straight into one of the shops. “Grab some clothes to change into,” I tell her. The ones we’re wearing are ruined.

She looks at me, still shaken. “What are we going to do?”

“Just change. We need to blend in.”

She picks out a simple dress and heads to the changing room. While she’s in there, I grab a plain shirt and a baseball cap for myself. I change quickly in the open area, keeping my eyes on everything around us.

After changing, I pull out my burner phone and call Artyom. He answers with a groggy, irritated voice.

“What?”

I keep my voice low. “It’s me. There was an explosion at the airstrip. Your jet blew up.”

He’s immediately alert. “How is my sister? Is she hurt?”

“She’s fine. Shaken, but not injured. We’re at Heathrow now.”

He’s quiet for a second. “I will have another jet sent to you.”

“We don't have much time, we need to get out of here. I’m going to find a way to get us on a commercial flight undetected. Once we land, I’ll let you know.”

“That’s risky. Using our names⁠—”

“It's the safest option. We can't sit around waiting for you to send a jet." I cut in. “I’ll handle it. I’ll get her home safe.”

“You better,” he says, voice hard. “Protect her with your life.”

“I don’t need to be told twice. That’s my priority.”

I end the call just as Milana steps out of the changing room. We both head to the register. I pay for the clothes quickly.

As we step out of the clothing store, I finally get a proper look at Milana.

There are still streaks of soot along her jaw and hairline. Smudges of ash cling to her arms.

“We need to clean up,” I say quietly. “Come on.”

I lead her toward the restrooms, keeping her close, my eyes scanning every person we pass. The men’s and women’s rooms are side by side.

Thankfully, both are empty. I pull her into the men’s room with me, locking the door behind us.

We move fast. I grab paper towels, wetting them at the sink, and gently wipe the soot from her face. She does the same for me, her hands trembling slightly as she cleans the grime from my jaw and forehead.

When we’re done, we both look more like normal travelers, disheveled, but not like we just survived an explosion.