The jet's hum vibrated quietly around us.
Then the pilot's voice cracked over the intercom, raw with urgency. "Storm incoming! Brace yourselves, radar's picking up something unnatural!"
The jet jerked hard, throwing us against our seat. We weren't flying anymore. We were being tossed. The pilot forced the jet upward, engines howling under the strain as he tried to rip us free from the storm's pull.
I looked out the window.
The clouds weren't just dark. They were moving. Twisting over each other like living things, slamming together and pulling apart in violent, endless rolls. They twisted tighter, folding into themselves like an ocean caught in a whirlpool.
The jet bucked violently again. The seatbelt cut into my chest. Jackal muttered a curse under his breath, gripping the armrest.
The soldiers said nothing. Their faces were pale, eyes locked forward.
The storm wasn't just random chaos. It was moving. Spiraling. Like it was part of something else entirely.
