The jet descended back into the Philippines, the transition from endless skies to the vibrant hum of the city below stirring a mix of anticipation and weariness. The shimmering cityscape welcomed us, its glimmering lights stretching endlessly into the horizon. As the aircraft touched down, the routine rush of airport staff and travelers filled the air, a symphony of movement and urgency.
Sneaking through the layers of police security was our forte, and tonight was no exception. The airport buzzed with activity, uniformed guards stationed at every corner, their sharp eyes scanning the crowds. Yet, weaving through them felt almost too easy. Our calculated moves, the precise timing, and the unspoken coordination among us turned the task into child's play. Within minutes, we had slipped past the final checkpoint and into the night.
Outside, a sleek black convoy waited like a sentinel in the chaos. The vehicles gleamed, their polished surfaces reflecting the amber glow of nearby streetlights. Engines purred faintly, the subtle hum a reminder of the power lying dormant within them.
The van door slid open, revealing Franchesca and Jane seated in the middle row. Their faces brightened the moment they spotted me, their excitement almost contagious. They waved eagerly, urging me to join them. However, as I stepped inside, their expressions faltered for the briefest moment. Their gazes darted past me toward the open door, searching for the tall figure who always stood out among us.
Behind me, Tabayoyong and Elijah climbed in, their movements practiced and efficient, followed by the sound of the van door sliding shut.
The silence inside the van felt weighted. Despite the outward enthusiasm, I saw the unspoken question in their eyes.
Where's Jazz?
Eugene sat in the driver's seat, one hand resting on the wheel, the other adjusting the rearview mirror to steal a glance at us. Potato sat beside him, her hands fidgeting nervously as though the walls of the van were closing in on her. At the back, Johnson and Veloz sat with their arms crossed, their eyes scanning the surroundings like sentinels.
Tabayoyong avoided looking at anyone directly, his posture stiff as he leaned back, trying not to attract suspicion. But for seasoned criminals like us, the tension was simply routine. Franchesca and Potato, however, clung to each other like lifelines, anxiety etched into their features.
As we approached another security checkpoint, the guards' flashlights darted across the vehicles, their scrutinizing gazes unnerving the less-experienced members of our group.
"They're staring into my soul," Franchesca muttered, her voice a mix of nervousness and exasperation.
"Relax. This van is tinted," Eugene reassured her with a casual smirk, his eyes flicking back to her reflection in the mirror.
Despite his words, I could feel the unease settling over everyone. Franchesca and Potato tightened their grip on each other's hands, and though no one spoke of it, the tension inside the vehicle was palpable.
Then came the inevitable breaking of the silence.
"Heart..." Potato began, her voice soft but tinged with hesitation. She turned her head slightly, looking at me from the corner of her eye. The weight of everyone's attention shifted to me, their collective gaze silently asking the question they'd been too afraid to voice.
The silence became deafening. It was the kind of silence that acknowledged failure without needing to say it aloud.
"Looks like she failed too," Eugene muttered under his breath, his words cutting through the quiet.
