Asia — Point of View

I didn’t know what to say.

That scared me more than the blood, more than the bridge, more than the sound of Jess’s name echoing in my head like a scream that never finished.

We all climbed into the van without a word. No one asked who was driving. No one asked where we were going. Our bodies moved on instinct, like animals fleeing a fire that had already burned us alive.

I sat down and stared at my hands.

They wouldn’t stop shaking.

One day.

That’s all it took. One single day to lose two people who mattered. Two people who were laughing not long ago. Two people who were here.

I looked up.

Jakari sat in the driver’s seat, staring straight ahead. Both hands on the wheel. Knuckles white. Jaw locked so tight I wondered if his teeth would crack.

He hadn’t spoken since we left the bridge.

I tried to.

“Jak—”

My voice failed me halfway through his name.

Jayla’s hand closed gently around my shoulder before I could try again. Not stopping me—protecting me. Like she knew what would happen if I opened my mouth.

I looked back at Jakari.

He was breaking.

Not loud. Not dramatic. Slowly. Like something under too much pressure that hadn’t exploded yet.

His chest rose and fell too fast. His eyes were glassy, unfocused—locked on the road but seeing something else entirely. I could almost feel the war happening inside him. Rage clawing at grief. Guilt strangling love.

“Let it go, baby…” I whispered.

For a second, I thought he hadn’t heard me.

Then—

He screamed.

Not a scream. A roar.

It tore out of him like a beast breaking free, raw and violent and full of so much pain it felt wrong to hear it. The sound shattered the van’s windows in an instant. Glass exploded outward. The air vibrated so hard my ears rang, and we all screamed and covered our heads, instinctively curling in on ourselves.

Then it stopped.

And Jakari cried.

Not quiet tears. Not dignified grief.

He broke down sobbing, shoulders shaking, head dropping forward like the weight of the world had finally crushed him. The kind of cry that tells you a man has lost something he can never get back. The kind of cry that strips away pride, strength—everything.

No one spoke.

Kelo slammed his fist into the side of the van, his shout breaking into a sob as he screamed that they took her. That they took Jess. That it wasn’t fair.

None of us argued.

Because we all felt it.

We were kids sitting in a broken van, crying like children who had just learned the world was cruel—and didn’t care.

Eventually, the crying faded into silence.

I moved to the back of the van with the girls. The empty space where Jess should’ve been felt… wrong. Like the air itself noticed she was gone.

Lina pulled out her phone, hands still trembling.

“Three hours,” she said softly. “That’s when the plane to Brazil leaves.”

No one looked at Jakari.

He raised four fingers without turning around.

“Four hours,” I said quietly.

Kelo swallowed. “How much gas we got?”

“Not enough,” Jakari answered flatly.

I stared out the window.

Smoke still rose in the distance.

I turned away fast.

My eyes drifted around the van, taking in things I hadn’t noticed before—bags, equipment, weapons. Then something caught my eye.

“Oh?”

Everyone except Jakari looked up.

I reached under a tarp and pulled out a long case. Heavy. Cold.

A sniper rifle.

“So… I’m guessing this might be useful.”

Jayla’s eyes lit up slightly despite everything.

“Hey,” I said, nodding toward her. “Don’t you have a good shot?”

She hesitated, then smiled faintly. “Actually… yeah. I bet I can hit the next sign dead center.”

“I bet you don’t,” Jakari muttered without looking back.

Jayla opened the side door. Bright sunlight poured in, flashing against endless trees and open road. She steadied herself, breathing slow and controlled—too controlled for someone her age.

“Me and my grandpa used to do this all the time,” she said.

She loaded the rifle.

Chk—clack.

We watched.

The shot rang out.

CRACK—BOOM.

A moment later—

DING.

The road sign flew past us with a perfect hole through its center.

My mouth fell open.

“Told you,” Jayla said, a sad little smile tugging at her lips as she closed the door.

Jakari took a left onto the highway.

I stared out the window again, watching cars blur past.

“We need gas,” I said.

“I know. Nearest station’s an hour away.”

I sighed.

A pink Mustang flew past us, engine screaming.

“Damn,” Jayla muttered. “That car’s pretty.”

I glanced at Jakari.

One hand on the wheel. Calm. Focused. Like nothing had happened.

Something twisted in my chest—fear tangled with attraction in a way that made me hate myself a little. I bit my lip and looked away.

“Hey,” Kelo said. “When do we eat?”

Everyone agreed.

Everyone except Jakari.

“Love?” I leaned forward slightly.

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t turn his head.

“You hungry?”

He shook his head once.

I knew then—he wasn’t ignoring us. He just didn’t care about anything that wasn’t survival anymore.

I turned back around.

That’s when Lina froze.

“Jakari…” she said slowly. “We might have a problem.”

He looked back.

“What.”

She lifted a heavy metal box with wires spilling out and a red light blinking steadily.

My heart stopped.

“Slowly put it down,” Jakari said, voice suddenly sharp.

She did.

C4.

Active.

I pulled back a tarp and saw open bags of TNT.

“BAE!” I screamed.

Jakari swerved instantly, tires screaming as he pulled onto the shoulder of the highway.

The van rocked to a stop.

Silence swallowed us whole.

That’s when it hit me.

This wasn’t an accident.

This wasn’t leftover gear.

Someone wanted us dead after we escaped.

I looked at Jakari.

He stared at the explosives like he already knew.

And in that moment, I realized something that made my stomach drop—

Star wasn’t reacting.

She was already moving.

The blinking red light felt like it was staring at us.

Every pulse echoed in my chest, slow and steady, like the bomb was breathing—waiting for us to make a mistake.

Jakari pulled the van onto the shoulder with surgical precision.

“This wasn’t meant to scare us,” he said quietly. “It was meant to finish the job.”

Jayla stepped forward before anyone else could speak.

“I can disarm it.”

I turned to her, fear clawing up my throat. “Jayla—”

“I’m serious,” she said, already kneeling. “This isn’t military-standard. It’s rushed. Whoever planted it didn’t expect us to find it.”

Jakari crouched beside her. “Tracker?”

“Yeah,” she replied. “They wanted to know where we died.”

That sentence hurt more than the bomb.

Jayla opened the casing. Wires spilled out—red, blue, yellow. Her hands didn’t shake. Her eyes narrowed, locked in like the world no longer existed beyond the problem in front of her.

“I need quiet.”

We gave it to her.

Cars rushed past. Wind brushed my face. My heart slammed so hard I was afraid it would set the bomb off itself.

Please, I thought. Not again.

Jayla clipped a wire.

The red light went dark.

No explosion. No scream. Just silence.

She exhaled hard. “Bomb’s dead. Tracker too.”

My knees nearly gave out.

Jakari stood slowly. “We don’t keep the van.”

“Gas station’s up ahead,” Lina said.

“We switch rides,” he replied. “Now.”

⸻

The gas station looked normal.

That was the worst part.

Two cars sat near the pumps like they’d been placed there on purpose.

A pink Mustang.

And beside it—a low, matte-black Corvette, windows dark, engine still ticking with heat.

The same Mustang from earlier.

My stomach dropped.

Jakari didn’t hesitate. “We split.”

He turned to Jayla. “You drive the Mustang. Lina, Kelo—you’re with her.”

Jayla nodded instantly.

Jakari grabbed my hand. “You’re with me.”

We moved fast.

Jayla cracked the Mustang in seconds. I slid into the Corvette passenger seat as Jakari brought it to life with a deep, predatory growl that vibrated through my bones.

The Mustang roared beside us.

And then—

We were gone.

⸻

The road stretched out endlessly in front of us.

Trees blurred past. The sky burned orange as the sun dipped low, shadows crawling across the asphalt.

For a while, neither of us spoke.

Jakari drove one-handed, eyes locked forward, jaw tight. The silence between us wasn’t awkward—it was heavy. Loaded.

Finally, I broke it.

“You didn’t hesitate back there.”

He didn’t look at me. “I couldn’t.”

“You could’ve,” I said softly. “You just chose not to.”

His grip tightened on the wheel.

“I keep seeing her,” he said. “Jess. Over and over.”

My chest ached.

“I walked away,” he continued. “I told myself it was the right call. That I was protecting you all.”

His voice dropped. “And she died because of it.”

I reached over and placed my hand on his thigh. He stiffened at first—then didn’t pull away.

“You didn’t kill her,” I said. “They did.”

“That doesn’t change anything.”

“It does,” I said firmly. “Because you came back.”

He finally looked at me then. His eyes were red. Not angry—tired.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted. “I don’t know how to protect people without becoming something I hate.”

I squeezed his hand.

“You’re still you,” I said. “You felt it. You broke down. You care.”

I swallowed. “Monsters don’t do that.”

He exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding his breath since the bridge.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said quietly.

“You won’t,” I replied. “Not today. Not like this.”

The Corvette slowed as the airport came into view.

For a moment—just a moment—everything felt still.

Hope flickered.

Jakari glanced at me.

I leaned in first.

The kiss was soft. Grounded. Real.

Not desperate.

Not rushed.

Just two people reminding each other they were still alive.

Then—

The glow hit the windshield.

Orange.

Red.

Smoke rising in thick columns.

Jakari slammed the brakes.

We pulled up to the airport—

—or what was left of it.

The runway was scorched. The terminal was half-collapsed. Fire ate through steel and glass like it had been waiting for us.

The plane was gone.

Destroyed.

Ash drifted through the air like falling snow.

My heart sank.

Jakari didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t rage.

He just stared.

That’s when I understood.

This wasn’t a warning.

It was a message.