The moment the cabin door hissed open, the cool night air swept in like a wave, tinged with the scent of jet fuel and wet asphalt. Lights flashed beyond the stairs—emergency vehicles lined up in a staggered, chaotic row, and the silhouettes of medics moved with grim efficiency across the tarmac. It should have felt like relief, but to Sebastian, it was jarring.
He glanced at Maya.
She hadn’t let go of his hand.
Neither had he.
The flight attendant was the first to descend, signaling the medics below. Then came the steps—metallic, steep, and swaying ever so slightly under the weight of trauma. Sebastian stood slowly, his movements controlled, but every part of him was tight—his back, his jaw, his grip on Maya’s hand.
“You ready?” he asked quietly.
She nodded, though her face was pale
