"So, is this your first flight?" the man in front of Julian asked, his voice already grating on Julian's nerves.
"I told you yes — like an hour ago," Julian said, trying to keep his annoyance in check. "Do you have to keep asking?"
He turned back to his book.
"You know... it's my first flight too. But why a plane? Wouldn't a train be faster?" said Charlie — a young adult, just turned nineteen, his voice quivering slightly.
Julian sighed and shoved in his earphones. He hadn't made it through three pages without constant interruptions.
Scrolling through his phone for music, he cursed the weak signal — the small aircraft didn't even have Wi-Fi.
Only four passengers onboard, no food or drinks served.
He sighed again, thumb hovering over the gallery button.
It was too tempting to scroll through photos of his ex, especially with the way the forced breakup had landed him on this miserable flight to get away from her.
Instead, he pressed play on a downloaded song.
The turmoil in his mind made the book useless.
Why had he brought it anyway?
His games were stashed in a bag at the back of the plane — totally out of reach.
"Bro, can you hear me out?"
The shout beside him yanked Julian from his thoughts.
"What is it—can't you—"
Julian cut himself off, suddenly realizing why Charlie was calling out.
"You feel that too, right? It's not just me? I knew it! We're gonna die, I knew it!" Charlie cried.
"Shut up! It's probably just turbulence. Let me check."
Julian fought with his seatbelt, trying to get a better look — but before he could move, a pilot stumbled out from the cockpit.
"Boys, bad news. One engine's malfunctioning. Honestly, we don't know how we're still airborne — we should've already gone down. But it's giving us a window.
Grab a parachute. Lifejackets too. We're still over the Atlantic — we'll be landing in water. Now MOVE!"
The pilot pointed urgently toward the emergency compartment.
Julian didn't need telling twice.
He jumped up, the plane's slow descent making balance tricky as he scrambled for supplies.
"Here, take yours!"
Julian tossed a lifejacket and parachute toward Charlie, fumbling into his own gear.
No time to check if he'd strapped it right.
The front door cracked open — cold air howled in — and the second pilot, already geared up, emerged from the front.
"Hurry! Seconds before this turns ugly!" he barked, grabbing Charlie and shoving him toward the open door.
Then he turned on Julian.
"Now you, boy! Forget your stuff — it's as good as gone!"
Without waiting, the pilot threw himself out into the open sky.
Julian saw the first pilot — the one who'd warned them — waiting outside the door, motioning for him to jump.
For a split second, Julian hesitated — then he leapt.
"Remember—try to land together!" the pilot shouted as Julian got sucked out by the pressure of the wind.
The roar of the airplane grew deafening behind him.
Julian barely caught the sight of another parachute opening before the plane nosedived toward the ocean.
He looked around — relief flickered through him.
All three parachutes were open next to his.
One of the pilots angled toward a direction, motioning the others to follow.
Julian copied him, feeling the rush of air yank him upward before he stabilized, beginning the slow, terrifying descent.
He strained his eyes against the wind.
Skydiving was nothing like he'd imagined — and the churning nausea in his stomach told him he never wanted to do it again.
Below, the plane hit the ocean with a violent splash, splitting it into two.
A tower of water exploded upward.
Julian watched helplessly, grief bubbling in his chest.
His games, his laptop — everything he owned was probably gone.
Focus.
He scanned the surroundings, trying to find a landing spot.
They only had minutes left before touching down.
One of the pilots gestured wildly, pointing — land, thank god — an island nearby.
Julian gripped the toggles near his hands, following the pilot's frantic motions.
Feet down, slight pull, tilt—he mimicked every move he saw, hoping he wasn't about to crash into the ocean.
Gradually, he felt the others steering in the same direction, gliding closer to the island.
Then he saw it.
Something massive, moving just beneath the water's surface.
Julian made himself as small as possible, trying to stretch the last seconds of flight.
Whatever it was, it wasn't a whale — and it definitely wasn't friendly.
"What the hell is that?" Julian shouted, though he knew the others couldn't hear him.
The words burst out — pure instinct with fear laced in.
He prayed the massive shadow below was just a whale.
But no whale he'd ever heard of looked like a great white shark — and yet none of those anmals stretched over fifteen meters long.
As they neared the shoreline, Julian caught a glimpse of the creature veering away.
It couldn't—or wouldn't—approach the shallow waters.
Good.
No way he wanted to find out what would have happened if it could reach the shore.
Julian unbuckled mid-air, hitting the water hard but swimming fast.
The parachute trailed behind him, heavy and awkward — but he wasn't about to let it go.
They'd need every scrap of gear they could salvage.
Through salt-blurred vision, he spotted the two pilots splashing their way toward the beach.
Charlie, on the other hand, was flailing ahead, desperate — having ditched his parachute completely.
"Damn idiot, you'll need it!" Julian shouted, but didn't waste time arguing.
He backtracked, snatching Charlie's abandoned chute before powering toward shore.