Chapter 8
“No survivors?”
Emily… was dead?
“No… That can’t be. It’s impossible-” Lucas fumbled for his phone, his fingers trembling so violently that it took him over
a minute to unlock the screen.
The flight number that should have been cruising safely in the stratosphere now glared at him from the notification bar-
followed by one blood-red word, “CRASHED”.
His finger pressed against the glass, trying to steady the screen, but the cold surface seemed to seep into his skin,
spreading numbness up his arm until it felt like solid ice. Only then did he realize-his entire body was shaking.
He didn’t remember sprinting out of the hospital. Didn’t remember how he got to the airport.
The terminal was chaos.
Dawn had barely broken, yet the place was packed-wails, screams, curses, and sobs tangled into a deafening storm of
grief.
“Why… why did the plane crash?”
“My son was on that flight-!”
He shoved through the crowd, his throat raw as he reached the airline counter. But when he opened his mouth, no sound
came out.
“Sir, may I ask which victim you’re here for?” The attendant’s voice was loud, professional.
The word “victim” hit him like a sledgehammer to the skull. His vision swam, ears ringing.
His hands clamped onto the counter, knuckles bone-white. “Emily. I-I’m Emily’s family.”
A moment later, the attendant slid a document toward him. “This is the casualty confirmation for Mrs. Black. Please sign here.”
A sheet of paper.
Emily’s face in grayscale.
He stared, eyes burning, but no matter how hard he blinked, the words blurred into meaningless shapes.
Frantic, he grabbed the arm of the person beside him. “Please-what does this say?”
The stranger, already furious, glanced down-and his anger dissolved into pity. “I’m so sorry. It says… your wife was among those lost in the crash.”
The taste of blood flooded his mouth.
Lucas staggered back until his spine hit a pillar, then slid to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.
Chapter 8
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A sound escaped him-a wounded, animal keen, guttural and shattered, like the dying cry of a beast with its leg in a trap.
“Ah… ah…”
What followed felt like a nightmare.
Amid the drone of the broadcast announcement, Lucas moved through the formalities like the others-hollow-eyed, mechanically signing for the remains. “Remains” was too generous a word; all the recovery team had gathered from Emily’s seat was a palmful of carbonized residue, the sort that stains fingerprint whorls gray when one tried to hold it.
The forensic examiner had solemnly placed the remains into an urn. After verification and Lucas’s signature on the documents, the container was finally returned to him with equal solemnity
Lacus moved like a lifeless puppet, numbly clutching Emily’s ashes as he walked out.
The entire way, countless staff members approached him with grief-stricken faces, murmuring condolences and
apologies.
Yet Lucas seemed not to hear a word, dragging his leaden feet as he inched toward the airport exit.
Then, mechanically, he started the car and drove numbly toward home.
Where a crowd waited at his doorstep.
His brothers.
And Lillian.
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Chapter 8
