Page 134 of Glitched Fates & Stolen Mates

Far too late?

For a start, they’d spend hours debating. Seb would want to verify the source of the information, run background checks on the encryption methods, analyse every pixel of the footage for signs of manipulation. Priya would insist on contacting her own network of informants, of running through every single possibility inside and out. Flynn would frantically attempt to side with everyone, agree with every idea to keep the peace. Rory, at least, would want to charge in guns blazing. But Theo would be there right beside him, handcuffing him to the nearest chair.

Then, finally, if I got the result I wanted—if they agreed to mount an immediate rescue—we’d have to make travel arrangements. Flights, equipment, backup plans for the backup plans, an endless debate on who would actually go.

By that point, hours and hours would be wasted. And who knows how long it would take once we arrived in Switzerland to actually locate Kit? The satellite footage showed absolutely nothing at those coordinates. Just mountains and trees. We wouldn’t be able to leave the airport and jump on a bus to him. It would take ages to even work out how to get to the location, let alone recon, then mount an actual rescue operation.

No. We needed to leave right now. It was the only way we’d have the tiniest sliver of hope.

But… not we.

Me.

By myself.

Icy terror crawled up my spine. I’d never travelled by myself, let alone on something like this. A crazy suicide mission.

Suicide mission—was that what this was?

Probably.

But Kit wouldn’t hesitate to do the same for me. Fuck, he’d probably be halfway to Switzerland by now, having commandeered a helicopter or something equally impossible.

I shot to my feet, adrenaline flooding my system. I’d need to go home to get my passport… no, wait. One of our counterfeit ones stashed in the weapons room would be ten times safer anyway. No paper trail linking Felix Chŭng to whatever disaster I was about to stumble into. No time to go home. I’d make do with what I could find in the hotel.

I scurried up the stairs, opening cupboards almost at random, throwing things into my backpack. Energy drinks—ten cans, then I put two back because the bag wouldn’t close with my laptop and all this stuff crammed inside. Phone charger, Kit’s emergency cash stash from behind the fire extinguisher.

Reaching the hotel’s side exit, I froze.

I hadn’t actually booked a flight.

I flew back down to the basement, fingers flying across my keyboard. There were still seats available on British Airways flight BA710 departing Heathrow at 06:05 for Zurich. Not a budget airline, so it would empty my bank account. A problem for Future Felix, after he got fired for this.

But 06:05 was perfect timing, actually. I’d be able to get to the airport with plenty of time to spare. Plenty of time to sit in a freezing departure lounge, regretting my life choices and wondering what the hell I thought I was doing.

My gaze drifted back to the plant on my desk. In a moment of complete madness, I grabbed it.

“Right, Princess,” I told it, the same way Kit talked to his houseplants. “I hope you’re ready for an adventure.”

30

Felix

The plane juddered as we taxied towards the runway, and I gripped the armrest so hard my knuckles went white. My entire body hummed with caffeine-fuelled energy, leg bouncing uncontrollably against the seat in front of me. Three Red Bulls in under ten minutes had seemed like a brilliant idea when airport security were about to confiscate them for exceeding the liquid limit. Now, my heart was threatening to escape my rib cage, or simply stop entirely.

The middle-aged woman beside me shifted away another inch. Couldn’t blame her. I’d been vibrating like a tuning fork since take-off preparations began.

“Ladies and gentlemen, cabin crew prepare for departure.”

This was really happening. I was actually on a plane to Switzerland. To rescue Kit. By myself. With a houseplant.

You haven’t thought this entire plan through.

The realisation hit me like a bucket of cold water. I’d been operating on pure adrenaline and panic for the last few hours, but now, strapped into seat 23F with nowhere to run, the full magnitude of my stupidity crashed over me.

I had coordinates. That was it. Coordinates to the middle of nowhere, pointing to what could be an empty field or an impenetrable fortress. I had no backup, no weapons, no actual plan beyond “get to Switzerland and figure it out.” I didn’t even speak German. Or French. Or Italian.

And I’d need sleep eventually. Since Kit disappeared, I’d had about four to five hours each night, max. I was running on emergency power with critical processes failing left and right.