My stomach twists. Once we board that plane, there's no going back. No changing our minds. No returning to our old life.
Not that we have an old life to return to anymore.
We pass a billboard for a water park in Tucson. Cartoon kids sliding down bright blue tubes, arms raised in joy. Lucas would love that. Would beg to go, would spend hours in the wave pool, would come home sunburned and exhausted and happy.
Except we're never going back. Never going to do normal things like water parks and soccer practice and playdates with friends whose names I'm already starting to forget.
My chest aches. I breathe through it and keep my eyes on the horizon.
Colton ends his call and shifts in his seat. Glances back at Lucas sleeping, then at me. "You should try to rest. It's a long flight."
"I'm fine."
"Rachel—"
"I said I'm fine." The words come out sharper than I intend. I soften my voice. "How long until we reach the airfield?"
"Five minutes. Private terminal on the east side. No security checkpoints, no passenger manifests. Clean departure."
Five minutes until we get on a plane to somewhere Colton won't name. To people I don't know. To a base of operations that might be just as compromised as every other place we've tried to hide.
But Lucas is breathing. Warm and alive and trusting me to keep him safe.
That has to be enough.
The convoy exits the highway, turning onto a narrow access road that leads away from the main terminal. Chain-link fencing runs along both sides, topped with barbed wire. Security gates slide open as we approach, then close behind us once the last SUV passes through.
Private hangars line the tarmac ahead. Small jets and helicopters sit ready, their paint jobs gleaming in the late afternoon sun. Money and power on display, the kind that doesn't fly commercial.
We pull up beside a sleek white jet. Larger than I expected, corporate rather than military. The kind of aircraft executives use to hop between meetings, not operators extracting witnesses.
Colton climbs out first, scanning the area before opening my door. Lucas stirs as I shift, blinking awake with confusion written across his face.
"Where are we?" His voice comes out groggy.
"The airport, baby. We're getting on a plane." I smooth his hair back. "Remember? Mr. Stryker's taking us somewhere safe."
"I don't want to go on a plane." Tears well in his eyes. "I want to go home."
My heart breaks. Again. "I know. But we can't right now."
Colton crouches beside the open door, putting himself at Lucas's eye level. "Have you ever been on a private jet before?"
Lucas shakes his head, wiping at his eyes.
"It's pretty cool. Lots of room to move around. Comfortable seats. And I bet we can find you something better than airplane peanuts to eat." Colton's voice gentles in a way I've never heard before. "What do you say we check it out?"
Lucas looks at me. I nod. "It'll be okay."
Mercer and the local contractors create a perimeter as we cross the tarmac. Professional. Efficient. Scanning for threats even here in a secured area because nowhere is truly safe anymore.
Stairs extend from the jet's door. Colton goes up first, then gestures for us to follow.
I climb up with Lucas's hand tight in mine, Ghost tucked under his other arm. When we step inside, I stop.
This isn't what I expected.
Cream leather seats arranged in clusters around polished wood tables. Soft lighting that feels warm instead of harsh. Carpet thick enough to muffle footsteps. A small galley at the rear with what looks like actual food, not packaged airline meals.
