The helicopter descended toward the private landing pad on the outskirts of Catania as if the sky itself had finally surrendered its grip. The craft trembled from strain, metal groaning after the battle it had endured, but the moment it broke fully into clear light, the pressure that had threatened to crush it evaporated. Wind steadied. Visibility returned. The blades cut through open air.
Luca kept his arms wrapped around Aria the entire descent. She lay against him with barely any weight at all, her head resting against his shoulder, her breath warm but intermittent. He did not blink once. Not while she slept. Not while her fingers twitched against his shirt. Not while the doctor whispered urgent directions or Rosetta prayed or Nico reported coordinates to the pilot.
He held her like the world could steal her away in the space between heartbeats.
