Sự Hạ Cánh Novels & Stories

I prayed silently, my knuckles turning white as I gripped the armrests. ​"Alpha, we are beginning our descent," the pilot’s voice crackled over the speaker. "We are landing at the Blood Stone Pack's private runway in two minutes." My hands had begun to tremble uncontrollably, whether from the curse or pure fear, I couldn't tell anymore.

Chapter 117: The Hangar Breach The plane landed at the Nice-Côte d'Azur airport in the middle of the night. The Mediterranean coastline was dark. The lights from the coast were shining bright. The Gulfstream plane touched down on the runway with a lot of force making the people inside feel like they were being pushed back into their seats.

The private jet cut through the clouds, shaking violently for three long seconds as the landing gear dropped with a heavy, mechanical clank beneath the floorboards. The pilot’s voice crackled once over the cabin intercom, short and flat, announcing their descent into the private airfield on the outskirts of Geneva.

Ezra opens the hotel window slightly, scanning the sky. “Too late.” Because far above the city— Something massive is descending through the clouds. And the message on my phone updates one final time. DO NOT BE AFRAID. WE ARE THE SECOND TO ARRIVE.

“That is enough.” The words weren’t loud. They were final. The air dropped. The invisible buoyancy vanished as if cut from beneath her. Adelaide gasped, startled—not by pain, but by the sudden loss of lift. Her wings reacted instantly. They fell. Not collapsing entirely, but drooping—light dimming along their edges as the wide, sovereign span folded inward in abrupt defeat. The tips dipped lower than before, the curve of them softening, flame paling to a restrained glow.

The landing was not a descent; it was a crash held back by sheer arrogance. The helicopter skids tore into the frost-bitten grass of the cliffside, missing the greenhouse by a mere ten feet. As the rotors began their slow, dying whine, the silence of the Maine coast rushed in—vast, cold, and indifferent to the dramas of men.

Dust puffed into the air. I fell.

Now she had made a fatal mistake. She couldn’t fly and was likely to die from crash landing onto the ground. Although she could slow her descent with her one good wing it would still be up to fate if she landed in a safe spot. She flapped her one good wing trying to slow her fall with some luck. She then noticed the place where she was falling towards and grit her teeth.

Hug me like he'd never let go? “Kiera, pull yourself together,” I whispered to myself, drawing in a steady breath. Just then, the jet came into view. The drumming intensified. We all waited, watching intently as the aircraft descended and touched down. The air staircase extended, and the team inched closer in rhythm to the beat.

A thin vertical line appears in the sky. Not white. Not gold. Not shadow. Silver. It does not tear the sky open. It unlocks it. A narrow door. And through that door— A single object passes. Small. Silent. It falls toward the planet like a meteor without flame. Dylan squints. “That’s not a fleet.” “No.” It descends rapidly. Not toward the city. Toward us. My pulse spikes. The grid tenses. The object slows as it nears the shoreline. Hovering twenty feet above the sand.