The warning lights in the cockpit flashed like a deranged strobe, painting the cramped space in alternating shades of red and hellish orange. The jet’s engines whined like dying animals, their usual smooth hum reduced to a sputtering, choking rattle. Smoke curled from the control panel, the acrid stench of burning wiring mixing with the sharp, metallic tang of fear.

Bruce’s hands gripped the yoke with white-knuckled intensity, his jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle twitching beneath his stubble. The man who had faced down alien invasions and rogue gods now looked—for the first time in his life genuinely out of his depth.

"This," he ground out between gritted teeth, "is not how I planned our anniversary trip."

You, meanwhile, were half-hanging over the co-pilot’s seat, frantically flipping through the emergency manual like it might magically reveal how to land a billion-dollar death trap with zero functioning systems. Your flight attendant training had covered evacuating a crashing plane, not flying one.

"Okay," you said, voice pitched high with panic. "Good news! The manual says we’re definitely going to die!"

Bruce shot you a look that was equal parts exasperation and fond terror. "That’s the good news?"

"The bad news is we’re doing it over shark-infested waters!"

The jet gave a violent shudder, dropping altitude so fast your stomach lurched into your throat. Bruce cursed, wrestling with the controls as the alarms blared even louder, if that were possible. Outside the window, the ocean rushed up to meet you, the turquoise waves deceptively calm beneath the chaos.

"Brace position," Bruce snapped, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade. "Now."

You didn’t argue. You’d seen that look before—the one that said this is going to hurt. As you scrambled into position, your hands gripping the seat with bruising force, Bruce’s free hand found yours, squeezing once, tight.

"If we survive this," he muttered, I’m firing Lucius for recommending this jet.

The island loomed ahead—a jagged strip of green and sand that was probably not inhabited by cannibals. Probably.

The last thing you heard before impact was Bruce’s voice, grim and oddly calm:

"Close your eyes."

Then—

Impact.