Just as Jeffrey said, Henri and Thea were able to retrieve their passports from a safety deposit box in a secured area of the airport. Their lack of official identification nearly prevented them from accessing the safe, but a quick confirmation of their dates of birth and other random facts on they would know was enough to convince the clerk guarding their things.

With nothing but their passports and the clothes on their backs, Henri, Thea, and Malik made their way through the airport in search of the terminal that would lead them to wherever the private jets flew out of.

"Did Jeffrey ever send you the flight stuff?" Henri asked.

Thea pulled out her phone as they waded through the raging sea of rushing airport dwellers. A myriad of noises filled his ears; news broadcasts blaring from television screens, people chirping away into their cellphones, and the occasional squeal of a runaway toddler. As the trio passed by a screen displaying all the flights running out of Dulles for the day, Henri caught a soundbite from a nearby screen playing a feed from the local news station.

—after an attack at the J. Edgar Hoover building. A sole casualty, a distinguished FBI agent by the name of Derek Callahan, has been reported. The bureau is still gathering intel on potential suspects. Updates coming soon. Stay tuned, folks."

Henri stopped abruptly, his eyes going wide. Annoyed grumbles and stares passed him as people shuffled around him as if he were a boulder in the middle of a raging rapid. He didn't even react when he caught a few shoulders to the back.

His eyes were glued to that television screen.

An image of the FBI's headquarters stared back at him. Memories from the previous day flooded his head. A picture of a younger Callahan in a police cadet's uniform followed shortly after. His stomach twisted into the Gordian Knot.

"Henri, you alright?" Thea asked. She and Malik stood a few paces ahead of him, having just realized he was no longer by their side.

His hands clenched into fists at his side. A shuddering breath left his lips. He counted to ten slowly in his head, a technique learned from his biweekly therapy sessions. He hadn't been since leaving London, though. After all of this, he feared he'd spend the rest of his life on a therapist's sofa.

"I'm...I'm good," he managed to get out. Shaking his head, he continued behind Thea and Malik.

After a few quiet seconds between the trio, the latter nudged him gently. Henri lifted a brow at the boy.

"It wasn't your fault," he told him. "With what happened to Callahan, I mean. Wasn't your fault. Sergei pulled that trigger, not you. Don't forget that."

Henri's jaw clenched. "But I went to him for help. I got him involved."

"You didn't kill him, Henri. Sergei did."

He was right. Sergei. Arkangel. Monet Delacroix. They were the villains in this story. Yet he couldn't help but feel guilty.

"Let's pick up the pace, yeah?" Thea urged. "I do not want to get stuck in here."

"Where are we even going?" Henri asked.

His sister's eyes flickered to her phone screen. "The email Jeffrey sent me says we're supposed to make our way out to the—" Now it was her who'd come to a standstill.

"What's the matter?"

Her expression eclipsed as if she were the moon sliding behind a burning sun. He could see her hands trembling. The girl's breath hitched as her emerald stare cut through the crowd of people around them.

"Dude, is she frozen?" Malik whispered. He waved a hand in front of her face.

"No, she's not frozen..." Henri stepped next to her, trying his best to mirror her vision. His entire body went rigid as if he'd looked straight into Medusa's eyes. But it wasn't a gorgon he was looking at.

It was one of Sergei's goons.

And they were headed straight for them.

"We gotta move," Malik said upon seeing what the siblings were. He snatched up both their hands and tugged them in the opposite direction.

Thea finally pulled herself out of her shock. "We need to get onto the runway."

"How the hell are we going to do that?" Henri hissed as he ducked his head out of sight of whoever was behind them. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted their stalker looking around in the crowd.

They were dressed in all black with shades covering their eyes, a nondescript cap atop their head, and a clear earpiece hiding in their ear. Standard incognito fit. Except it only made them stand out amongst the rest of those milling about the airport. The goon mumbled something to no one in particular. Likely a message for whoever resided on the other end of their earpiece. They'd lost Henri and his companions for the time being. But they'd find them again.

We need to go.

"We can't exactly just walk out onto the tarmac, can we?" Malik asked.

Thea rubbed her temples. "Whenever we fly private, we usually get driven straight to the jet."

"Is this really the time to be flexing your stupid wealth?"

"I'm not flexing!"

"Guys!" Lowering his voice, Henri glanced over his shoulder. They had yet to be spotted. "Let's focus here. We can't walk onto the runway alone and we don't have an escort. That leaves us with one option." He pointed at a help desk being manned by a rather bored-looking attendant. "If anyone knows what we're meant to do, it'll be someone who actually works here."

Thea and Malik nodded.

"You're right," his sister said.

"Yeah, good call, Henri," Malik added.

Being the voice of reason wasn't new to him. Sure, he might've been a ball of nerves himself, but someone had to be calm enough to use their brain. It also helped that he was the self-proclaimed genius of the group.

"Only one of us needs to go," Henri whispered as they continued to shuffle along the tiled floor of the airport terminal. "All three of us moving together will get us spotted."

"Who goes then?"

Henri took an opportunity to glance over his shoulder. His eyes locked with those of the person tracking them. A triumphant glint filled theirs as they began pushing their way through the crowd. His breath caught in his throat. Static seemed to fill his quaking body and his brain turned to mush.

So much for staying calm.

"We split up," Thea suddenly said. "I'll get to the help desk. You two...I dunno...hide or something."

It wasn't much of a plan, and splitting up never worked in the movies, but it was their best bet. If they moved as a unit, it'd be much easier to trap and capture them. If they split up, it would force their pursuer to make a choice. Besides, they didn't have much time to scheme up another, more sophisticated strategy.

"Where should we meet up at once you figure out how we get on the runway?" Malik asked.

Thea looked around for a bit. Her face lit up once she landed on something. "See that pretzel shop over there? That's where we meet."

Henri spotted the brightly lit kiosk selling soft pretzels. It glowed in the middle of the floor full of wandering people like the North Star. That would be their oasis. The rendezvous point. He wasn't a big fan of warm pretzels, but he supposed it would do.

"Alright." He shared one last glance with Thea and Malik before nodding. "See you soon."

And, with that, the trio broke off and darted into the crowd.

#

Henri's brain had seemingly switched off. His feet carried him as if they had minds of their own. He awkwardly shuffled along, trying his best to blend in with the general public and keep out of sight of the Arkangel goon tracking him. The good news was they were quite a distance away from him. The bad news was that meant they were closer to either his sister or Malik.

If either one of them got nabbed, he'd lose his marbles.

But he had to keep himself from getting caught as well.

Slowing up a bit, he peeked behind himself. On the other side of the terminal, he could see Thea making her way to another help desk. Once she made it there, she'd be safe. No one would try anything on her there—at least, he'd hoped.

He also thought they wouldn't have been able to get to him in the J. Edgar Hoover Building. His brow creased. Surely they weren't bold enough to try grabbing Thea in front of someone who worked at the airport.

Even if they were, she wasn't the easiest target at the moment. That would've been Malik. He was still amongst the crowd, his head on a constant swivel. Their stalker changed course and headed straight for him. As the boy sped up in an attempt to escape, he collided into an elderly woman while his head was half-turned in the direction of his assailant. Both Malik and the old lady crashed to the floor.

Henri stopped moving. His feet felt like cinderblocks.

Get up, Malik...

He picked himself up off the floor—but not before helping the old lady back to her feet as well.

"Get out of there, Malik!" Henri wanted to yell. But he couldn't. His throat had tightened up; he could barely inhale. The mercenary was closing in on an ignorant Malik, who was still making sure the woman he'd knocked over was alright.

Screw her! Run!

Malik still hadn't moved. When he turned to face the approaching danger, the look on his face suggested he had no plans of doing so.

Henri's hands quaked so hard he thought they'd detach from his wrists. Gnawing on the inside of his cheek, he desperately racked his brain for an idea. For a strategy. For anything to help him save Malik. The boy had saved him countless times already. Now when it was time for him to return the favor he froze?

Malik never froze. The boy had an endless supply of courage.

Henri wished he could say the same, but he'd never been very brave. He didn't stop sleeping with a night light until the age of eleven. Even now, he could hear his father's disappointment in the back of his mind as he stood by—pathetic and helpless.

His eye twitched as anger filled his veins. He balled his hands into fists and didn't even wince when his fingernails stabbed the skin of his palms.

He wouldn't freeze. He couldn't. Not this time.

Scowling, he stepped out of the crowd with his chin lifted slightly. He zeroed in on the mercenary. "Hey, loser! Leave him alone!" He'd deepened his voice drastically. To his surprise, it carried across the floor, cutting through all the different noises around him until it reached the ears of the man about to close in on Malik.

The goon, along with a bunch of people, stopped in their tracks.

All eyes were on Henri, the mercenary, and the frozen Malik.

The mercenary faced him, their eyes narrowed. They said nothing. The rush of adrenaline Henri had been acting on quickly began to subside. Fear and nervousness replaced it with hast.

He took a half step backward. His hands started trembling again.

The goon grinned. But he'd taken his eye off Malik. And that was enough.

In an instant, the boy's fist cracked the beefy brute's jaw. They toppled over like a building being demolished by explosive charges. A loud thud sounded once their back hit the floor. Gasps and murmurs rang out through the crowd.

Henri couldn't help but smile.

Malik wasn't done, though. He'd jumped onto the mercenary—his strong legs pinning their arms down to the tile—and began peppering him with punches. He was like a pro-UFC fighter on that floor, his arms pumping like pistons and his fists connecting like legos.

Henri's smile melted into a horrified grimace. His eyes widened as the murmurs in the crowd grew in volume. People shouted at Malik. Someone called for security. None of them dared touch him in fear of him turning his fists on them.

Oh no.

"Malik!" Henri shouted. He beckoned him over. "C'mon, we gotta go!"

His voice hadn't gotten through. The boy kept firing away.

Cursing under his breath, Henri sprinted over to him. He tried ignoring the horrified stares being thrown his way. They pierced his skin like steel-tipped arrows coated in poison. He kept his eyes low and his steps quick, hoping that it'd make him appear invisible.

No such luck.

"You know that guy?" he heard someone ask incredulously.

"Control your friend!" someone else shouted.

"He's killing that man!" another cried.

Henri grit his teeth as he arrived on the scene. He grabbed Malik by the shoulder and practically dragged him off the mercenary's still body. Their face was bloodier than a gory crime scene. Some of it had gotten on Malik's knuckles, which were raw and bruised themselves. The boy's fury-filled gaze snapped from the man grumbling incoherently to Henri's terror-stricken face.

The anger faded from Malik's stare. Realization of what he'd done began to set in.

"Oh shit..." He stared at his hands as if they were a smoking gun and he hadn't pulled the trigger. "What did I—"

"Henri!" a voice bellowed from behind them.

Thea.

She stood next to a frightened-looking worker from the help desk. Over the cluster of heads that had gathered, he spotted security guards approaching. A lump formed in his esophagus. Sweat beaded along his temple. He swallowed the lump in his throat before glancing at Malik.

His brain failed to think of anything to say. The sight of the mercenary's mangled face and the begrudging grumbles of the crowd forming around them forced him to retreat into his shell. He flinched at the insults flying his way.

"Henri, I..." Malik carefully got to his feet. "I—"

"Let's go!" Thea's voice interrupted. She beckoned the boys over to her.

Swallowing hard, Henri yanked himself out of his stupor. He took off running toward his sister. A sole pair of footsteps followed behind him.

#

To Henri's surprise, the worker Thea wrangled led them out of the terminal and down to the tarmac. She hadn't even asked to see information about their flight. Perhaps she had the image of Malik pummeling a man on the front of her mind. Hell, Henri still did.

He hadn't seen the boy act like that before. Nothing before this suggested he had that kind of behavior in him. A memory from last night sprouted in his head like a garden in the spring. Maybe Malik's rampage wasn't random. After all, he'd gotten kicked off his school's basketball team for doing something similar. Albeit there was a huge difference between some trash-talking kid on a court and an armed mercenary tasked with kidnapping them, but the outcomes were both the same.

Maybe this wasn't a heated moment that just went too far. Maybe this was who Malik was: a violent, rage-fueled young man.

Henri shook his head and scowled—mostly at himself. He banished that thought, refusing to believe in it as if it was a missionary forcing its religion on him. Everyone else thought Malik was a monster. Society thought the same of anyone who looked like him. But he wasn't. He was a good person. That'd been demonstrated over and over again.

That mercenary deserved what came to him.

"Alright." The airport worker's voice quaked slightly as she inched away from the trio. "You'll find your jet down there. H-Have a safe flight." She scurried away, the click-clack sound of her heels retreating rapidly.

Henri, Thea, and Malik stood a few yards away from a stubby-looking plane with beige detailing and six oval-shaped windows built horizontally into the side. The sun shined off its spotless white coat. The passenger door rolled out like the tongue of a massive frog. Metal steps led into an interior that belonged to the 80s. He crinkled his nose at the jet.

"Seriously? A Hawker 750?" Thea pursed her lips.

"Jeffrey could've at least gotten us a Gulfstream," Henri muttered.

Malik shook his head at the siblings. "No way are you two complaining. It's a private jet!"

"Trust me, when you've flown in the things we've been in, you'd be underwhelmed too," Henri replied.

"I keep forgetting you two are millionaires."

His face reddened. He suddenly realized how vain he must've sounded to him. Much of his time was spent around people who would've laughed if they were told they'd be flying anywhere in a Hawker 750, a low-end midsize jet. He wasn't used to anything less than exquisite. But Malik hadn't even been on a commercial plane before. The boys didn't share matching views of luxury.

Part of him wished he had Malik's. At least he'd be able to appreciate things for what they were.

"Oi!" someone barked from inside the jet.

The three of them froze.

"What're ya' doin' down here?" A clean-shaven man in a Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts waddled down the steps. Black shades guarded his eyes and a dingy, leather aviator cap sat atop his head. "Ya' not s'posed to be down here. Don't ya' know the runway's for planes only?"

Thea approached the man. "Er, this is our jet."

"Your jet?" The man glanced at the side of the aircraft. Scratching his chin, he lifted a brow at the girl. "Don't see your name anywhere on it, missy."

Thea placed her hands on her hips. "You don't even know my name, genius."

"'Less your name is N783ZY, I don't think this is your jet."

She rolled her eyes. "My name is Thea. Thea Beck. Ring any bells?"

The stranger blanched. Apologies poured out of his mouth. "My apologies, Ms. Beck. I dunno, when my employer told me to expect three passengers, I was expectin'...someone else."

"Well, you've got us. Deal with it."

"Aren't you a delight?" Flashing a crooked smile, the man waved at the two boys behind her. "Howdy, partners. Name's Avery Graves, but you can simply call me Graves. I'll be your pilot today."

The boys exchanged apprehensive glances.

"This guy is our pilot?" Malik whispered.

"I mean..." Henri took another look at the man. "I guess?"

"I can hear y'all, you know," Graves told them. "Now, I know what ya' might be thinkin'. 'Why's this country hick dressed like he just stepped off a resort? Can he even fly a plane? Is that Jack Daniels I smell'?"

Henri wasn't thinking that before, but he was now. His anxiety started to climb like the planes in the sky above them.

"I can assure y'all that I am trained and certified in piloting these big birds." He gestured for them to board. "C'mon, let's get goin'. We're burnin' daylight here."

"You still sure you want to go to London?" Henri asked his sister.

She cursed under her breath. "We'll be fine. He seems...competent enough."

"I wouldn't be so sure."

"Yeah, yeah. Just get on the jet, alright?"

Shaking his head, Henri headed up the jet's metal stairs.