Chapter 7 - 30,000 Feet Above RealityThree hours later, the world looked entirely different through the oval window of a Gulfstream G650 military transport jet soaring high above the clouds.
My arm was securely bandaged and elevated in a custom carbon-fiber sling. A military-grade IV drip was taped to my right hand, pumping steady fluids and pain management medication into my veins. Across the aisle sat my father, stripped of his tactical vest, wearing a simple black civilian button-down shirt.
He was pouring two cups of black coffee from a heavy thermos. He handed one to me, his calloused fingers brushing against mine.
"You should have called me sooner, Lena," he said softly, breaking the quiet hum of the jet engines.
I looked down at the steaming cup of coffee, feeling a familiar knot of guilt twist in my stomach. "I didn't want to bother you. You were always on deployment... classified missions... I thought I could handle it. I thought if I just worked harder, stayed quieter, maybe he would change."
My father sighed, setting his cup down on the small mahogany table between us. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, looking at me with an intensity that made me feel like I was a little girl again hiding behind his legs during thunderstorms.
"Listen to me very carefully," he said, his voice firm and unyielding. "Men like Marcus don't change. They hunt. They look for women who think they have nowhere else to go, and they isolate them. But you are a Vance. You carry the blood of survivors. Never, ever think you are a burden to me."
A tear slipped down my cheek, but this time, it wasn't from pain or fear. It was the first tear of absolute safety I had shed in half a decade.
"What happens to him now, Dad?" I asked quietly.
My father took a slow sip of his coffee, a faint, dangerous smile touching the corners of his mouth. "Let's just say Marcus is currently undergoing a very rigorous re-education program regarding the value of human dignity. By the time my associates are done with him, he won't remember his own name, let alone yours."
Before I could respond, the pilot's voice crackled over the intercom.
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"Colonel Vance, we're twenty minutes out from the private tarmac at Fort Bragg. Intelligence division has flagged an incoming secure transmission from Washington. It's high-priority."
My father's expression instantly hardened. The protective father vanished in a millisecond, replaced once again by the legendary Delta Force commander.
