Chapter 6 - The Price of Truth
BANG.
The gunshot echoed over the roar of the engines. A searing pain flashed across my shoulder, but the bullet only grazed me. We tumbled onto the wet metal stairs of the aircraft. Tessa fought with terrifying, feral strength, scratching at my eyes, trying to aim the gun at my head.
"You ruined my life!" she shrieked, her perfect hair plastered to her face. "You were supposed to be my puppet!"
I twisted her wrist until she screamed, dropping the gun. It clattered down the metal steps and fell into the dark puddles below. I pinned her arms to the deck just as Maren sprinted up the stairs past us, rushing straight into the cabin of the plane.
"Clara! Clara!" Maren’s voice echoed from inside.
"No!" Tessa yelled, struggling against me. "Get off me!"
Suddenly, a loud siren wailed from the edge of the airstrip. A fleet of state police cruisers, sirens flashing red and blue, smashed through the ruined gates, surrounding the airplane. Heavy searchlights illuminated the entire tarmac, turning the dark night into blinding day.
Through a megaphone, a voice boomed: "This is the State Police! Shut down the engines immediately and step away from the aircraft!"
Tessa froze beneath me, looking at the dozens of flashing lights. The realization of her total defeat hit her all at once. Her eyes went completely blank, the manic energy draining out of her.
I let her go, standing up in the pouring rain as state troopers rushed up the stairs with their weapons drawn, pushing Tessa to the ground and clicking handcuffs onto her wrists.
I ignored them all, turning and running into the plane's cabin.
Inside, the luxury interior was retrofitted with high-end medical equipment. Richard Whitmore lay in a specialized transport chair, his eyes wide with fear as a trooper handcuffed his frail wrists to the armrest.
But I didn't care about him.
In the back of the cabin, Maren was on her knees, crying uncontrollably. She had opened the incubator and was holding the tiny, fragile baby girl tightly against her chest. The baby was crying—a soft, high-pitched wail that was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard in my life.
I walked over slowly, my knees shaking, and dropped to the floor beside them.
Maren looked up at me, her face streaked with tears and rain. For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The silence between us was heavy with twelve months of agony, betrayal, and misunderstandings.
"She’s alive, Rowan," Maren whispered, her voice cracking. "Our little girl is alive."
I reached out a trembling hand, gently touching the soft, golden curls on Clara’s head. She had Maren’s nose, but when she opened her tiny eyes, they were the exact shade of blue as mine. The exact same eyes as her twin brothers sleeping in the rural cottage miles away.
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"Maren..." I choked out, a sob tearing from my throat. "I’m so sorry. I’m so incredibly sorry. I was such a fool. I let them destroy us."
Maren closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against mine, our tears mixing together in the dim light of the cabin. "We have to save her first, Rowan. We have to take her home."
