Blood and Vows.

Chapter 16 - Burning Bridges

The airport terminal wasn’t meant for farewells. It was steel, glass, and fluorescent lights that hummed like wasps. Yet the echo of footsteps carried the weight of endings.

Stevens pushed through the sliding doors with Emil at his side. His jaw was set, his fists clenched, and he carried the look of a man who had stopped negotiating with the world.

The investigator stood there waiting, blocking their path as though he’d expected them. He smirked when he saw Stevens.

“You’re too late,” he said. “Your girl’s already on the list. One way or another, she’s finished.”

Stevens didn’t stop walking. He stepped in close enough that the investigator smelled the sharp burn of whiskey on his breath.

“Move,” Stevens ordered.

The man didn’t. He tilted his head. “Or what? You’ll hit me? That’ll make it official—you’ll never wear the badge again.”

For a moment, time hung in the sterile air of the terminal. Then Stevens drove his fist into the man’s face with a c***k that echoed off glass and tile. Blood sprayed. The investigator staggered back, clutching his nose.

“That’s my resignation letter,” Stevens growled. “File it however you want.”

Emil blinked, stunned, then caught up as Stevens pushed past the chaos, out onto the tarmac where the private jet waited.

Boarding

The stairs were slick with dew. The engines whined in readiness, blades shimmering in the floodlights. Stevens climbed without looking back, as if he’d already burned the bridge behind him. Emil followed, his breath ragged.

Inside, the cabin was narrow but polished—cream leather seats, faint smell of fuel and leather polish. The door sealed with a hollow thud.

The jet began to taxi.

Emil finally found his voice. “That punch—you really ended it all with one swing.”

Stevens buckled in, not looking at him. “That man never respected me. Now he understands.”

Emil leaned back, nervous energy rolling through his fingers as he drummed the armrest. “And Alex? Do you think she knows what we’re risking for her?”

Stevens stared at the dark outside the window. “She’ll never know everything. Doesn’t matter. What matters is getting there before she destroys herself.”

In the Air

The engines roared, pressing them back as the jet lunged forward, wheels racing against gravity. Then the lift came—the smooth severing from earth—and suddenly the world below was nothing but a carpet of lights, retreating.

Silence filled the cabin, broken only by the hum of engines. Stevens unbuckled and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. Emil studied him, uneasy.

“Do you really think we can stop her?” Emil asked. His voice carried more fear than doubt.

Stevens finally looked at him, eyes hard but steady. “We have to. Otherwise, all of this—quitting, burning our ties, throwing away our careers—it’s meaningless. If she dies, every sacrifice dies with her.”

Emil exhaled sharply. He wanted to believe, but belief felt fragile. “She thinks she’s alone, Stevens. That no one’s in her corner. That’s why she runs into fire like it can’t burn her. She’ll keep going until…” He faltered. “Until it kills her.”

Stevens’s jaw tightened. “That’s why we don’t let her. She’s too stubborn to see she matters. So we show her. We stand in front of her if we have to.”

He poured himself water from the crystal pitcher at the side table, but his hands were trembling when he set the glass down.

The Confession

The minutes stretched, the engines droning a lullaby that didn’t soothe.

Emil finally spoke again. “You ever regret it?”

Stevens frowned. “What?”

“Believing in her. Fighting for her when everyone else says she’s guilty.” Emil shook his head. “Because some nights, I wonder if I’m a fool.”

Stevens gave a short, sharp laugh, bitter but real. “Every day I wonder. But then I remember the look in her eyes when she still believed in the badge. When she still believed in people like us.”

He leaned back, closing his eyes for a second, then opening them again, fierce.

“I can’t regret believing in that. Not when the world gave her nothing but reasons to stop believing in anyone.”

For the first time that night, Emil smiled faintly. “Then maybe we’re both fools.”

“Better fools than cowards,” Stevens said.

They sat in silence after that. Outside, the sky stretched endless and black, a void carrying them closer to Mexico—and closer to the storm Alex had already stepped into.

A Shared Hope

The cabin lights dimmed. Emil loosened his tie and whispered, almost like a prayer:

“I just want to get there in time. Before she does something she can’t walk back from.”

Stevens didn’t reply at first. He stared out at the wing slicing through clouds, the red tip light blinking steady as a heartbeat.

Finally, he said: “We’ll make it. We have to. Hope is the only weapon we’ve got left.”

And for a fleeting moment, the silence wasn’t heavy. It was a promise.