"Alex!!!"
Isobel's scream tore from her throat, raw and ragged, scraping her vocal cords like glass. Her lungs burned, but she didn't care. Panic consumed her. The roar of the wind, the shriek of metal, the blaring alarms—none of it drowned out the only thing that mattered.
Him.
"Isobel!" Alexander shouted, straining against gravity, but before he could reach her, a violent jolt ripped through the cabin. His seat tore loose from its bolts, and he was hurled sideways like a ragdoll.
His body slammed into the wall, but at the last second, his hand shot out and latched onto a rear seatbelt, clinging for dear life.
Isobel's breath hitched in horror.
Her heart slammed in her chest, the beating loud in her ears as the world outside the cracked window spun—sky, sea, ground—blending into a kaleidoscope of chaos.
This is it, she thought, numb and horrified.
This is how we die.
The realization struck her like lightning. Guilt and grief rose in her throat. She had pushed him too far. She had let her fear and fury spiral out of control. And now… now it was too late.
"I'm sorry…" she whispered, barely able to hear herself over the deafening wind and alarms. "I'm so sorry…"
She wanted to scream that she loved him. That she believed him.
But the helicopter gave a shuddering spin, and she was slammed back into her seat, her head jerking to the side.
Pain shot down her spine. She clutched her stomach instinctively, gasping.
"Alexander!" she cried out again, the tears falling freely now. "Please!"
"Isobel! Stay calm!" he yelled, his voice hoarse from strain. "We'll be fine, just—stop screaming, you're throwing me off!"
She nodded frantically, her whole body trembling, but there was no calm inside her. Only chaos. Only fear. Her hands pounded uselessly against the glass, as if someone—anyone—might see them and come to their rescue.
Wishful thinking.
"How are you so sure we'll survive this?" she sobbed, her voice breaking. "We're about to crash, Alex!"
Her hand reached out, blindly fumbling for his. She clutched his arm with shaking fingers, gripping like it was the last real thing she had.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "This is all my fault…"
He turned to look at her.
And the moment their eyes met, her heart cracked open.
Gone was the cool, unshakable man she knew. His face was pale, his lips pressed in a tight line. And there, on his cheek—trailing down through the dirt and sweat—was a single tear.
Or maybe it was sweat. She told herself it was sweat.
"Alex… I said I'm sorry…" she repeated, more desperate now.
But he didn't answer.
The control panel lit up in a blinding red glow, flashing warnings that screamed louder than words. The shrill wail of alarms pierced the air, a sound too final, too late.
"Alexander!" she sobbed, voice collapsing.
Terror clawed at her chest as the baby inside her shifted—alive, but frightened. Her arms wrapped around her belly protectively, her instincts roaring to life even as the rest of her began to fade.
The helicopter tilted again, a brutal jolt slamming her into the side window. Her head cracked against the glass.
CRACK.
Stars exploded behind her eyes. White-hot pain radiated across her skull.
She blinked rapidly, trying to stay conscious, but everything was spinning—colors, sounds, light—and her limbs
refused to respond.
"Please," she croaked. "I didn't mean it… Please don't leave me…"
Then—
Impact.
The world around her exploded.
The ground hit with a thunderous force, and the aircraft shattered around them like glass under a hammer. Metal
screamed. Flames roared. The world came apart at the seams.
Smoke. Fire. Screams.
Everything twisted.
Everything burned.
Her own scream ripped from her throat—a shrill, guttural cry of anguish that was swallowed by the explosion and
chaos around her.
In that instant, she felt weightless.
As if her body had detached from everything she knew.
The world muffled, her ears ringing with a high-pitched whine. She was tossed like a doll, limbs flailing, heart
stuttering. Pain exploded across her chest, her stomach, her skull—sharp, blinding, unbearable.
She couldn't breathe.
She couldn't scream anymore.
And then—
Silence.
The helicopter had come to rest, but it was nothing like it had been.
Twisted wreckage surrounded her like jagged shrapnel, steel groaning under its own weight. The cabin was
unrecognizable, warped by fire and force. The acrid scent of burning metal and jet fuel choked the air.
Isobel's head hung forward, a sticky warmth trailing down from a gash above her brow. Blood dripped slowly,
staining her cheek and lips. Her limbs felt like stone—stiff, heavy, uncooperative. Her tongue tasted iron. Her teeth
ached from the impact.
Still, she forced her fingers to twitch. To move. To try.
Where were they? Where was he?
Outside, it was already dark. The horizon had disappeared behind smoke and shadows. So much for a romantic
getaway.
"Alexander!" she croaked, voice strained and barely audible over the distant roar of fire.
Pain flared in her legs as she tried to move, white-hot and unforgiving. The seatbelt dug mercilessly into her ribs,
squeezing every breath like a vice. Each inhale felt like a knife to the chest.
"Please…" she whispered, trembling violently, her body betraying her.
She tried calling his name again, but it cracked into a sob, shredded by smoke and fear.
Her vision blurred as the air thickened with soot. She blinked rapidly, trying to push through the dizziness.
Still no sign of him.
No, no, no…
She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. The heat. The smoke. The sound of the fire licking at the metal carcass. It was
all crashing in on her, suffocating her.
Where is he? Where's Alexander?!
"Alexander!" she screamed, louder this time, though it tore through her throat like broken glass.
Her hands were shaking so violently she could barely grip the buckle. Her fingers slipped more than once, slick with
blood and sweat. But she didn't stop.
She couldn't stop.
After what felt like a lifetime, the buckle gave way with a metallic click, and she collapsed, tumbling out of the seat,
hitting the floor with a sickening thud. Pain radiated down her side.
But she ignored it.
She crawled, dragging herself across the broken floor, nails scraping against warped panels. Her knees burned.
Every motion sent agony through her joints. Still—she moved.
She had to find him.
She called his name again, her voice hollow in the twisted shell of the cabin. "Alexander!" Her throat ached, raw and
useless.
But there was nothing.
Only the snap and hiss of fire eating what was left of their helicopter. Only the silence of wreckage. No footsteps. No
voice. No answer.
Just her.
She pushed forward, reaching through bent metal and shards of glass, her arms trembling under the weight of her
panic.
"Alexander, please…" The words came out in fragments. Her voice cracked, her lungs burning.
Tears streamed down her bloodied cheeks, mixing with soot. Her whole body shivered uncontrollably. Still—she crawled.
Her hands, now cut and caked with grime, gripped anything she could for leverage. Her mind was spiraling.
What if he got out and left her behind? What if he was lying somewhere out of reach, hurt? Or worse?
She collapsed onto her side, breath ragged and shallow. Her body gave up before her heart did.
"Please… don't leave me," she wept, curling into herself on the scorched metal floor.
Time didn't exist anymore. Every second was a year. Every breath was a battle.
The smoke clawed into her lungs, her eyes stung, her thoughts faded in and out.
It's all my fault, she thought, bitterly. Her chest ached—not just from pain, but regret.
If I'd just listened. If I hadn't yelled. If I'd believed him.
The burning around her waist intensified, searing down into her legs and deeper into her abdomen.
A distant murmur of voices cut through the haze. Faint. Distant. But there.
Hope surged. Or maybe it was desperation. She couldn't tell the difference anymore.
She tried to sit up. Tried to scream. Tried to move.
But the dizziness crushed her, and she collapsed again, her vision tunneling.
"Alexander…" she whispered one last time.
And then—through the haze—she saw something.
A figure. Stumbling through the smoke. Arms outstretched.
Her heart lurched.
But her eyes were too heavy, her body too broken. She couldn't tell who it was. Couldn't call out. Couldn't do
anything.
The darkness welcomed her, soft and heavy, as she lost the fight against it.
And then—
Nothing.