Chapter 202

~ Franklin ~

The world didn’t rush back in a grand, cinematic sweep. It arrived in jagged, sensory pieces. First came the voices—hushed, clinical Portuguese and English—then the movement. I felt the subtle, jarring shift of the stretcher as I was wheeled down a corridor that smelled of high-grade disinfectant and ozone, a scent far too sterile to belong to the world of the living.

"We are transferring you now, Mr. Flemington," the doctor said, walking in rhythm with the medics. He held a digital clipboard, his thumb scrolling through my vitals one last time. "You’ve stabilized enough for the long-haul. The air ambulance is fueled and waiting on the tarmac."

I turned my head slightly, wincing as a dull, throbbing ache migrated from my leg to the base of my spine. But I ignored it. Pain was a reminder that I was still present. I watched the fluorescent lights flicker overhead, each one a mile marker pulling me away from the green hell that had nearly consumed my soul.

"What about Raquel?" I rasped.

"She’s being prepped as we speak. She will be in the same cabin for the duration of the flight," the doctor replied.

I let out a long, heavy sigh of relief. We weren’t leaving anyone behind. My mind drifted briefly to the darker news I’d received a day prior—that the recovery teams would be returning to the crash site to exhume the remains of Ian and Captain Harris. They were coming home too, though in a much grimmer fashion. They hadn’t been meant to stay in that jungle forever; they deserved the dignity of a proper burial and the tears of their families.

The transition to the aircraft was a blur of cool air and the roar of jet engines. When they finally secured my stretcher inside the specialized medical cabin, I saw Raquel. She was already strapped into a reclining seat, her arm heavily bandaged and her face still possessing that gaunt, ghostly pallor of the traumatized. But her eyes were bright.

"You look terrible," she said, a small, shaky laugh catching in her throat.

I huffed, a faint smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "I look significantly worse than terrible. I think ’haggard’ is the word you’re searching for."

She chuckled softly, but her expression soon turned somber. "I really didn’t think we were getting out of there, Franklin. I kept waiting for the forest to just...finish it."

"Giving up wasn’t an option," I said, my voice firm despite the exhaustion. I reached out, patting her hand. "I want you to know how grateful I am. For the water, for the fire, for keeping me conscious when the fever tried to take me. Thank you, Raquel."

She leaned forward, her eyes softening. "You’re welcome. And I think I like ’Franklin’ better than ’Mr. Flemington.’"

"It’s a deal," I whispered.

The hum of the engines intensified as the aircraft lifted, banking away from the vast, emerald expanse of the Amazon. I stared out the small porthole, watching the clouds swallow the jungle until it was nothing but a memory of shadow and steam. My hand rested over the thick bandages on my leg—a permanent map of the price I had paid.

As the flight stretched on, my thoughts turned into a carousel of suspicion. The crash, the timing, the precision of the interceptors—it all felt like a choreographed play. I wasn’t just going home to rest; I was going home to conduct an autopsy on the Harrington-Rice conspiracy.

But beneath the anger was a deeper, more primal fear: my grandfather. The last time I saw him, he was a silent ghost in a hospital bed, caught in the stagnant waters of a coma. I didn’t know if he was still breathing, or if I was returning to a funeral.

"I’m coming back to you both," I mumbled into the quiet of the cabin.

I thought of Octavia.

Our final moments together had been poisoned by secrets and resentment. But the sound of her voice on the phone had been a bridge across the abyss. She had sounded...happy. Relieved. Like she had been holding her breath for a lifetime.

Hours later, the pressure in my ears changed. The pilot announced our descent into Teterboro. The moment the wheels touched the asphalt, a surge of adrenaline masked my fatigue. I was back in the States. Back in New York.

As they wheeled me out of the bay and onto the tarmac, the cool, crisp Atlantic air hit my face like a benediction. And then, I saw her.

Octavia was standing just beyond the perimeter of the medical vehicles. She looked frozen, her coat wrapped tight around her, as if she were afraid that moving would break the spell and send me back to the trees.

The medics moved us closer, and the gap between us shrank—ten feet, five, three. We didn’t speak. We just stared, our eyes searching each other’s faces for the people we used to be. Her eyes were already brimming with tears, and I felt the stinging heat in my own.

She broke first, moving toward the stretcher and dropping to her knees on the cold ground. Her hands flew to mine, gripping them with a desperate, crushing strength.

"Franklin—" her voice shattered. "Oh, God, Franklin. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for everything. For the way I acted, for the things I said...I was so selfish. I treated you like you didn’t matter, and I’ve regretted every second of it."

"Hey, hey," I whispered, reaching up with a trembling hand to brush a stray hair from her wet cheek. "Stop."

"No, I have to say it. I thought I’d lost the chance to tell you."

"It’s in the past, baby," I said, my voice thick. "We’re here now. That’s the only thing that counts."

I pulled her closer, and she met me halfway. Our lips crashed together in a kiss that wasn’t careful or gentle. It was a desperate, primal reclamation of everything we thought had been buried in the mud. It was an apology, a promise, and a homecoming all at once.

When we finally pulled back, our foreheads remained pressed together, our breaths mingling in the cool air.

"I thought I lost you," she whispered against my skin.

"I will always find my way back to you," I promised. "I’m not going anywhere ever again."

She pulled back slightly, her eyes shining with a sudden, radiant light. "I have something to tell you. Someone who wanted to be here, but the doctors wouldn’t let him leave the ward yet."

I stilled, my heart leaping into my throat. "Grandpa?"

She nodded, a sob of joy escaping her. "He woke up, Franklin. He’s awake, and he’s asking for you."

Relief—pure, golden, and absolute—spread through me, settling into my heart like a stone finding the bottom of a well. We had survived the crash, the jungle, and the assassins. We had gone through the fire and come out tempered.

I looked at Octavia, then up at the sprawling New York skyline. The battle with Dorian wasn’t over, but the Flemingtons were finally whole again.

"Let’s go home," I said.