The tension was palpable on the runway as the Twinkie roared into view, headlights cutting through the darkness. The second John B stepped out, Sarah bolted toward him, relief flooding her face. But you stayed rooted, unable to move as Ward’s grip tightened, a knife glinting against your throat.

Rafe stood a few steps away, eyes dark with fury and fear. His gaze locked onto Ward, his father, who held you like a bargaining chip. But you saw something change in Rafe’s expression, a fierce protectiveness sparking as he raised his gun, his hands steady.

“Let her go,” he demanded, his voice icy. Ward smirked, glancing between you and Rafe, not believing his son would dare pull the trigger.

But in an instant, Rafe fired. The shot rang out, and Ward’s grip slackened as he stumbled, shock flooding his face. The knife clattered to the ground, and you staggered free, your heart pounding.

As John B held Sarah, you rushed to Rafe, your own fear melting as you wrapped your arms around him. He clutched you tightly, breathing heavily, his face torn with a mix of anger and relief. He’d chosen you, defied everything for you, and in that moment, nothing else mattered.