Chapter 21 : Five Minutes To Board

"I'm coming back to Bulgaria," she finally whispered.

"Now we're talking," Stefan said, throwing his fist up in triumph. "I’ll book your ticket right away."

"Yeah… sure," her voice strained, as if buried beneath a landslide of ash.

"Nevena!," Stefan called gently. "Cheer up—it’s for the best."

She gave a small nod. "Hmm—I’ll just… pack my things."

"Alright dear. I’ll reach out through your new number."

"Okay" she murmured.

With that, she tapped the button. The screen blinks to black, cutting Stefan off—leaving her alone with the quiet again.

‿‿⁠‿‿‿‿‿‿

Mobile Command Van, 9 miles from HQ ruins – 08:42 AM

That same morning.

‿‿⁠‿‿‿‿‿‿

Breanna cracked her knuckles with a yawn. The hum of generators was the only constant in her world for days now.

Parked miles from the charred skeleton of Headquarters was the mobile command van— cramped, sterile, and cold.

Leaning over the console, eyes red-rimmed, her fingers flew across the keyboard.

She hadn’t left that position in seventy-two hours, because inside the mobile command van, time doesn't exist.

With the screens, footage feeds, traffic cams, intercepted calls, building schematics surrounding her—sleep had become a memory.

Food was an afterthought. Her hands trembled from caffeine and adrenaline—nails bitten raw, knuckles scabbed from punching the keyboards non-stop.

The van’s interior had morphed into a war bunker built from sleepless hours and violent determination.

“Backtrack the fire alarm signal,” she muttered to herself, typing. “Where was it cut? Where—come on—where—”

Her hand ran through her hair which was tied in a rushed knot and that made her sniff.

"Ouff! That stinks," she mumbled. She hadn’t showered or changed clothes in the last three days.

But none of it mattered.

She took a breath, rubbed her aching temples, and opened a new file.

Her hands blistered from rewiring the surveillance grid herself when IT bailed.

The footage from the HQ's east wing played on loop.

She reached out a hand and slowed it frame by frame, watching the shadow move to the sprinkler's control.

A man. Face hidden under a hood. Slipping in within the time span—minutes before the fire.

“Who the hell are you?” she growled, tracing his outline on the screen.

It was definitely an insider job.

She isolated his build. Cross-referenced walk patterns with the HQ archives—waiting for it to analyze.

A knock on the van snapped her back, but she didn’t bother checking who it was.

“If it’s not coffee or a confession, get lost.”

The door creaked open anyway, and Agent Lowell 'her auxiliary aide' entered holding another drive, his expression wary.

“This just came in. Satellite shots—the squad leaving HQ after setting it ablaze.”

Breanna snatched it and loaded the footage. Her heart thudded faster.

A black SUV. No plates. She enhanced the side mirror reflection. A blurry face of who seems to be their leader.

“Zoom... sharpen,” she whispered.

Half closing her eyes, It wasn’t Antonio—it was his errand boy.

She adjusted slowly, tapping the desk behind her.

"Ma'am! The Director says you’ve got an extra seventy-two hours before this entire operation is pulled from your hands.”

Breanna turned, her stare burning. “Then I’ll break the case in seventy-one.”

"That's impossible" Lowell’s voice came back static-choked. “The Director's on your neck and that's literally unfair—you need to check in”

“Coward,” Breanna hissed, kicking back from the desk, chair screeching.

She grabbed a marker and stalked to the whiteboard. There were red Xs through six names already.

“Too slow… too sloppy…” she muttered, drawing another shaky circle around an unknown figure next to Antonio's name.

“Who the hell helped burn my case right from the HQ?”

"What?" Lowell muttered hesitantly.

"Yes!" Breanna's voice dropped lower. "Someone inside HQ always tips him off".

"But who could it be ?", Lowell's voice vibrated with curiosity.

“That's what I need to crack, and I'm just a few steps—”

A sharp ping sounded from her console.

'Analyzing Complete'.

She paused mid-sentence, dashing back to her desk like a soldier answering gunfire.

Right on the screen—a match blinked.

She zoomed in. “There,” she whispered. “That's the trigger man"

Lowell leaned forward and peeked. "Martinez?"

"Martinez—Do you know him?" Breanna asked, teeth clenched like a predator who finally smelled blood.

"Yes—That limp is unmistakable". Lowell nodded in reassurance, recognizing Martinez's movement.

"No one else but him limps in the HQ."

"That's a crack—what section of HQ is his duty post?" As she spoke, her fingers flew across the keyboard, matching gait analysis to the suspect file.

"Tech division—team leader". Lowell answered in a curt manner, straightening himself.

"Really?" She grinned—wild, exhausted.

How did she miss it—it takes only a skilled technician with access to both the building schematics and the off-grid surveillance system to manipulate the squad entrance.

She scribbled the name "Martinez" on her notepad, right beneath the word TRIGGER MAN?

As she developed a wanted Case file with Martinez's name, her burner phone vibrated. She ignored it, but then it rang again.

Finally, she answered with a clipped voice,

“Yeah?”

“Detective Ma'am" A nurse's voice came through.

"I… I’ve been trying to reach you since yesterday. Your son—he was cleared for discharge yester—morning. He thinks you forgot him.”

Breanna froze. Her throat dried. For a moment, her mind went completely blank—then flooded.

Her son—she had a six year old kid—hooked up with cast, back at Maverick hospital.

The last time she saw him was five days ago. She told him she’d be back after checking the perimeter around HQ.

That was the last time, he didn’t cross her mind ever again.

“Is he okay?” she asked quietly.

“He’s quiet,” the nurse replied. “He hasn’t said much since then.”

Breanna’s fingers clenched around the phone. Her jaw tightened.

“I’ll drop by today,” she said. “Or maybe I… I might send someone.”

"Okay Ma'am" the nurse answered and the line went dead.

"Ma'am" Lowell’s voice came through “I tracked Martinez. He’s holed up in the Brudane Subway. He's on the run."

“Lowell. I want eyes on the Eastport exit—I want that goddamn snitch alive.” Breanna instructed, already lacing her boots.

"But we're not cleared for a raid—”

“What f*cking clearance,” she barked. “I’m ending this.”

"What if a Court Martial is issued against our department". Lowell weighed the possibility.

“An eye for an empire.” Breanna sneered.

She zipped her coat, holstered her gun, and stared at the phone one last time.

She couldn’t afford softness to cloud the mission .

Not when the signal log confirmed tampering from inside HQ before the blaze. Not when Martinez 'the traitor' is on the run for Eastport.

She stood for a moment longer, then shoved the guilt aside like a body under a tarp.

Her son would be safe—for now.

She refocused—turning, Lowell was gone. The van door shut quietly behind him.

She followed immediately, opening the van door. The sky outside the van was ink-blue.

Fresh air mesmerized her lungs, unlike the mix of burnt coffee and fried wires she had inhaled constantly for seventy two hours.

And for the first time since HQ got razed, Breanna smiled.

Not with joy but with impression. Lowell was all set, right behind the wheel waiting for her.

She crossed the distance and got into the car—he stepped on the gas pedal and zoomed off.

Behind them, the mobile van stayed alive—her haunted cathedral of vengeance.

But ahead? There is a clue.

‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿

NEVENA'S GUEST HOUSE, 12:13AM.

That same day

‿‿‿‿‿‿‿‿

Nevena tugged her coat tighter, her other hand gripping the strap of her last carry-on.

Her heart gave a stuttering thud as she scrutinized her now empty room.

She closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath. "So sad I can't create memories here"

"Ma'am you are going to miss your flight" , the cab man screamed impatiently, honking.

Nevena jolted back, she turned away from the room and headed outside.

"Ma'am you don't have to do this, security has been tightened here" the housekeeper mumbled.

“Is not about that—”Nevena flashed a smile, she stretched out and pressed the key right into the housekeeper's palm.

"Desperate moments call for desperate actions—nice meeting you anyway." She added, her words dripping with Bulgarian accent.

"Nice meeting you too" The housekeeper replied, letting out a smile.

"The day has started" the cab man groaned grudgingly.

Nevena closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath.

"Run along ma'am—Mexican cab men tend to grumble a lot."

"Yeah—bye" Nevena nodded and boarded the already purring cab.

Her chest felt tighter with every turn toward the airport.

As much as she wanted to believe she was just going back for her health, but deep down—something tugged at her ribs like a hook.

> You’re not done here. Not yet. Someone, maybe a conversation that never happened.

With the question still throbbing in her heart, She pulled out her phone. There were three missed calls, and an unread message from Stefan.

She stared at the blinking cursor for a while, then finally her thumb hovered over it, opening the message.

"Don't forget—your flight is by 1:30"

She thought of calling back—or maybe updating him, but then she slid the phone back into her coat pocket.

She needed to sit. To breathe and figure out why the hell she was heartbroken that her stay in New Mexico was over.

"Ma'am we are here", the driver whistled out.

Nevena gave a curt nod, her eyes scrutinizing the billboard with the Airport's name.

The airport buzzed like a hornet’s nest. Restless sea of passengers & well-wishers trooping in and out.

"Cash or card?" The driver interrupted, tilting his neck to see her.

"Card", Nevena mumbled, swiping her card on the cab's debit scanner.

“Nice doing business with you, and—Safe journey” He got off and unloads her suitcase in his trunk.

The airport attendants immediately wheeled it into the building.

She let out a hollow breath and trailed behind them.

Inside, there was not really a queue at the check-in counter—But all Nevena did was sit on the stiff airport chair in silence, watching the faint drizzle fall outside the airport glass. A soft, relentless blizzard that felt oddly personal

Her knees buckled slightly and she stood, approached the now empty counter—and checked in.

She clutched her boarding pass like a verdict as she waited patiently with other passengers.

Her eyes however stayed fixed on the drizzle now turned frost, it crawled across the windows like slow, creeping fingers.

Her phone buzzed again and it was Stefan's message.

“You okay—you didn't reply my text?” the message flashed on her screen.

She slowly typed, “Yeah.... I'm already at the airport.”

Three dots popped up fast “Boarding yet.... Flight status?”

Nevena didn’t reply immediately, rather her eyes lifted to the departure screen above Gate 42, even though she’d memorized the details.

Her connecting flight from New Mexico to Bulgaria was boarding soon.

>"Five minutes to board". She typed back.

She put the phone face-down on the chair beside her and leaned back.

“Attention passengers" A muffled voice echoed from the loudspeaker.

Half the crowd tilted their head towards the Albuquerque terminal.

The gate agent cleared his throat and continued,

“Due to severe storm over the North Atlantic, affecting transatlantic traffic, Flight 312 to Bulgaria has been cancelled.” the announcement droned overhead.

Nevena blinked against the collective groan and curses from the crowd.

Her gaze traveled back to the screen again, to be sure it was her flight.

Right on the departure board, a bright red banner blinked beside Flight 312 to Bulgaria.

¡CANCELLED!

She let out a hollow breath, despite the complaints exploding like shrapnel around her.

"We apologize for the inconvenience—Please approach our service desk for compensation & rebooking options.”

A loud groan swelled from the passengers waiting. People stood. Swore and marched to the counters.

Phones whipped out like weapons for rebooking and compensation.

Nevena just sat there, her palm over her face. Then—a slow mischievous chuckle slipped from her lips. One she hadn’t even realized she was holding.

“Cancelled? Of course it is,” she murmured, to herself.

She flipped open her phone—the screen lit up instantly and she typed: “Flights grounded. Weather.”

The typing bubbles of Stefan appeared almost instantly.

> “Damn. No way. Let me call the airline for a rebook. Maybe a red-eye tonight or tomorrow?”

Nevena's heart skipped a beat, she didn't want a rebook—not when the universe seems to be in alignment with her heart.

But then, she pretended it was what she wanted too.

She waited for his message, her eyes overlooking the line at the help desk, coiled like a dying snake.

A woman nearby was on the phone, muttering something about rebooking taking “at least two more days.”

Stefan called after some minutes, asking her to go back to her guest house.

"Why—didn't the rebooking work?" Nevena asked him quietly.

"Yes"

Stefan replied with a deep exhalation. "It would take two days, and worse of it is that nearby hotels are booked".

"Oh! That's pretty bad". Nevena feigns sadness.

"No issues—" Stefan's voice coaxed.

"Stop by Maverick hospital—I emailed the Nephrologist your file, he will likely conduct a check on you....most importantly he will place you on some medication for the next two days".

"Okay Stef"

She giggled as the call ended. For once, the universe made a decision in her favour.

It had bought her more time—a chance, and it was a clear sign that her fate is somehow tethered to something here in New Mexico, and not home.

She shifted the weight of her bag and walked away from the gate, ignoring the frenzy of rebooking lines.

Every step away from the terminal felt… lighter.

She has only two days to unravel what is drawing her back here in New Mexico and settle it.

She stepped under the drizzle, rolling her suitcase behind her—getting to the Cab's space she boarded one.

“MAVERICK HOSPITAL...please”