Chapter 163
Allison sat in first class, gently stroking Lorna’s head. “Lorna, sweetie,” she said, “it might get a little bumpy when we take off, so put on your headphones. Don’t be scared. We’re here with you,” she whispered softly. Kellan, seated beside them, pulled Lorna into his arms. His voice was low as he glanced at Allison. “Ms. Clarke, you must be exhausted from the past few days. Rest if you can. I’ll keep an eye on things here.”
“Alright, I’ll try to nap in a bit,” Allison replied, accepting his offer.
As she took out a compact mirror to tie her hair, something caught her attention. Behind her, a few unfamiliar faces came into view. Years of finely honed instincts kicked in. While the men appeared ordinary, their fleeting glances and subtle body language triggered warning bells. A deep sense of danger stirred within her. It was a feeling she’d cultivated after witnessing countless battlefields. Her gaze sharpened, noting their muscular builds and disciplined posture. One man, as if feeling overheated, casually rolled up his sleeve, exposing a network of scars. They weren’t just passengers; they were professional killers.
Allison’s heartbeat quickened, but she maintained her composure. The plane had already taken off, and they were cruising at an altitude of at least thirty thousand feet. Escape wasn’t an option, and any drastic movement could spark a disaster.
Standing slowly, Allison approached a flight attendant. “Could I get a blanket?” she asked, her eyes darting discreetly toward the men. Their seats were strategically spread throughout the cabin, surrounding her. The quiet menace they exuded was unmistakable. These men were here for her.
With practiced ease, she took the blanket and handed it to Kellan, her tone gentle. “Mr. Lloyd, Lorna might get cold. This will help.” Their eyes met, and in that brief exchange, Allison subtly gestured toward the side with her fingers. Kellan’s brow furrowed, catching the silent signal. His expression didn’t change, but understanding passed between them. He tightened his grip on Lorna, pulling her closer. “Lorna, be a good girl and get some sleep, okay?” Allison said with a reassuring smile.
Kellan took the blanket from her, and a message appeared on his phone screen: “Protect Lorna. I’ll be back soon.”
Allison scanned the plane again, quickly calculating her next move. There were too many passengers; any confrontation would be catastrophic. She would need to reach the captain, perhaps using the restroom as a pretext.
But before she could take another step, the men behind her dropped their facade. “Don’t move!” A cold, sharp voice cut through the cabin as the barrel of a gun pressed against the back of Allison’s head. Screams erupted. Chaos spread among the passengers. “Help! He has a gun!” someone shouted in terror. “My God! How did they get past security? Stop the plane! Please! I want to go home!” Panic spread like wildfire as people scrambled toward the back of the cabin.
A man with a black tattoo on his neck stepped forward, unfazed by the chaos. Raising his gun, he fired two shots. Bang! Bang! The bullets ricocheted off the walls, one grazing a man’s face. He clutched his bleeding cheek, trembling in horror. The sight of blood ignited the crowd’s deepest fears. The cabin descended into a frenzy as everyone realized the brutal reality: they were in the midst of a hijacking.
Amid the commotion, Lorna, who had been quietly playing with her figurine, was startled by the gunfire. Her small hands flew to her head, and she let out a wail. “Waaah!” Kellan immediately cradled her. “Lorna, it’s okay. I’ve got you. Don’t be scared.” He glanced up, locking eyes with the gunmen. Their attention wasn’t on him. He understood their target now.
“Ms. Clarke,” one of the men in a dark suit said, his voice icy and smooth, “you’d better raise your hands and come with us to the Burned Islands.” They spoke the Leswington language with practiced fluency, their movements swift and assured.
Allison felt the cold press of the gun barrel against her scalp. Her mind raced, calculating her options. “Who are you?” she asked, though she was already devising a plan to disarm them.
The man with the gun didn’t falter. His voice was chillingly calm. “Who we are doesn’t matter. What matters is that you have unfinished business with our boss.” His eyes flickered with a wary gleam, fully aware of Allison’s reputation. “Don’t think about making a move. You might be skilled, but even if you take me out, you can’t save everyone on this plane.”