"Get to the roof of that building." August points to the dilapidated building where Layla is, his tone cold and commanding.
The co-pilot swallows hard, his eyes darting between August and the building. With a shaky nod, he changes course, bringing the helicopter in low over the city.
As the helicopter approaches the building, August can see Layla's face pressed against the window of the bedroom, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and hope. The co-pilot lands the helicopter on the roof with surprising skill, given his obvious fear.
August grabs the co-pilot from his seat roughly, dragging him out of the cockpit. His thin frame is no match for August's enhanced strength. With a powerful heave, August throws him from the roof, sending him sprawling onto a nearby rooftop, alive.
Layla bursts out of the building, her rifle still clutched tightly in her hands. She runs towards the helicopter, her face a picture of relief and disbelief. "You... you actually did it," she breathes, her words almost inaudible over the roar of the rotors.
"We need to get our bags. Now." August moves to the stairs.
Layla nods, her face still pale from what she just witnessed. The two of them turn and hurry back into the building, returning minutes later.
Layla's hands shake as she hands the bags to August, her gaze flicking nervously between him and the helicopter. Her mind races, thoughts colliding in a swirl of disbelief and adrenaline. The weight of what they're about to do finally starts sinking in.
She looks back at the building, the crumbling facade now more than just an abandoned hideout—it's everything they've left behind. The sounds of the city, the sirens, the chaos—they're all still here, waiting, just as they always have been. The thought that they won't be coming back to this place, that it's finally over, strikes her like a cold wave.
"We're really doing this, aren't we?" Her voice is barely above a whisper, a mixture of awe and fear slipping through. She turns to August, as if hoping for some confirmation that this is real. "We're really leaving?"
August doesn't immediately answer, his face unreadable as he checks the bags one more time. Then, without a word, he gives a short nod.
Layla's breath catches, and she nods, her grip tightening on her rifle. "Okay," she whispers, her words shaky. "I'm ready." She climbs into the helicopter, her movements hesitant.
As August takes the pilot's seat and puts on one of the headsets, she sits by him in the cockpit, doing the same. The co-pilot is still visible on the adjacent roof, watching in stunned silence as August starts the helicopter's engine.
The moment the helicopter lifts off, the rotor wash blasts through the air, sending dust and debris swirling up from the rooftop below. Layla's breath hitches in her chest, her grip tightening around the rifle as the ground begins to fall away beneath them. August catches a glimpse of her fear-stricken face, but there's something else there too—a flicker of hope.
He holds the helicopter steady, guiding it upward with practiced ease. The city below them starts to shrink rapidly, the buildings and streets becoming indistinct shapes in the distance. Layla watches the receding city with wide eyes, her knuckles still locked tight on the rifle, but there's a slight shift in her expression. The fear's still there, but it's accompanied by something else now—an unsettling freedom.
The helicopter climbs higher, the wind howling through the open cockpit, whipping Layla's hair wildly around her face. They pass the city's edge, and in the distance, the rugged mountains begin to take form, their jagged peaks cutting through the night sky.
August glances over at her, his voice steady, cutting through the wind. "Hold the stick. I'm closing the doors."
Layla hesitates for a moment, her eyes flicking between August and the controls. "I... I don't know how to fly," she admits, her voice barely audible over the roar of the wind. But as he moves to close the doors, she reluctantly takes the controls, her hands trembling on the stick.
August closes the side doors with a clang, the sound echoing through the helicopter's cabin.
Layla flinches at the noise, her knuckles white as she grips the controls. The helicopter bobs and weaves slightly as she struggles to keep it steady, her inexperience evident in every jerky movement. "I... I'm not sure I can do this," she admits, her voice trembling. "I've never flown before. What if I crash us?"
August reaches over and firmly grasps the controls from Layla, giving her a reassuring smile. "It's okay," he says, his voice steady despite the noise of the helicopter. "I've got this. Just sit back and hold on tight."
Layla lets out a shaky breath, her shoulders sagging with relief as she releases the controls. She looks out at the mountains ahead, her fingers still curled around her rifle, but her grip less tense now.
August feels the helicopter level out under his expert touch, the turbulence smoothing out as he gains control. Layla's breaths become more even, her gaze shifting from the controls to the breathtaking scenery outside. The jagged peaks of the Hindu Kush mountains loom ahead, their snow-capped summits reaching for the heavens.
The helicopter slices through the air, the powerful engines driving it forward. As it passes the jagged peaks, the terrain beneath shifts dramatically. The landscape becomes a patchwork of rocky valleys and pristine forests, a stark contrast to the bustling city they've left behind.
Layla leans forward, her eyes scanning the ground below with curiosity. "It's so... different," she breathes, speaking softly over the roar of the rotors. "So quiet. Like another world entirely."
August doesn't respond right away. His eyes move across the gauges — fuel, altitude, direction — while the hum of the rotors fills the space between them. The readings aren't ideal. He adjusts a dial, lips pressed tight for a moment before speaking.
"We'll need to make a couple of stops to refuel," he says, his tone even but quieter than before. "These light frames weren't made for long hauls."
He pauses, glancing toward the back of the cabin. "There should be extra fuel containers in the rear. You see them?"
Layla twists in her seat, scanning the shadows. "Yeah," she says after a moment. "Two cans."
August nods once, eyes returning to the horizon. "Good. That buys us time. We just need to find places quiet enough to land — somewhere off-grid." His gaze hardens slightly as his mind works through the logic. "This heli wasn't built for transport. Light frame, short range, low signature... they were using it to watch the city, not move through it. Probably had a few of these circling Kabul for weeks."
Layla looks at him, the unease creeping back into her eyes. "Surveillance?"
"Yeah," he says bluntly. "And now we've got one of theirs. Means someone's missing a toy, and they'll want it back."
He meets her gaze again, the faint warmth behind his eyes dimming into focus. "Doesn't matter where we land to refuel. Just enough to keep us flying," he says, then adds, quieter, "I wouldn't drag you this far just to fall out of the sky."
Her breath shudders out, the tension in her shoulders easing despite the words. She turns back toward the dark horizon, clutching her rifle loosely now instead of like a lifeline.
August exhales through his nose, steadying his grip on the controls. The engine's thrum vibrates up through his arms — constant, alive. He feels the faint ache in his chest, that hormonal haze softening the hard lines in his thinking. It isn't weakness; it's something older, quieter. An instinct that doesn't want to see her break.
His eyes linger on her for a moment — the way she leans into the window, trying to watch everything at once, pretending she isn't terrified. Something in him tightens. He's not sure if it's affection or responsibility, but it feels the same.
"Get some rest while you can," he murmurs, his voice firm but lower now, almost careful. "Next few hours are going to be long."
She glances at him, surprised by the gentleness in his tone, but says nothing.
The world outside stretches wide and endless, the sound of the rotors swallowing everything but their breathing.