The Illusion of Rescue

The lights of Atheria stretched beneath the jet as it descended, a lattice of gold and shadow spreading toward the horizon. The moment the wheels touched the runway, Sebastian was already unbuckling. No one spoke. They didn’t need to.

The private terminal was quiet, sealed off from commercial traffic. John was first through the door, scanning, already moving. Cars waited at the edge of the tarmac, engines running, drivers looking straight ahead. No greetings. No delays.

Inside the lead vehicle, the door shut with a solid thud. The city blurred past the tinted windows as they pulled onto the road.

Alina sat still, posture composed, but her fingers tapped once against the leather seat before she stilled them. “They could’ve moved her again,” she said quietly. “Or this is deliberate. Knox doesn’t improvise.”

Sebastian watched the streets, noting intersections, reflections, gaps. “He doesn’t react,” he agreed. “He anticipates. Which means we assume this is staged until proven otherwise.”