My boarding pass in my hand reads 7C, a silent promise I’m not about to break.
He glances up, the color draining from his face, the sudden pallor a mirror of the betrayal I’ve catalogued.
Behind him, Vanessa shifts in seat 7B, her fingers fiddling with the strap of her handbag, a nervous habit I’ve seen in the investigator’s footage.
She catches my stare for a heartbeat, then looks away, the tremor in her shoulders confirming everything without a word.
I step onto the plane, the aisle stretching like a runway, and the seat numbers blur into a line of judgment.
When I settle into 7C, the space feels like a stage, the audience of strangers oblivious to the drama unfolding a row ahead.
Adrian slides into 7A, his mouth tightening, and for a moment the hum of the cabin is an ominous drumbeat.
Confrontation at 30,000 Feet
I straighten my back, eyes never leaving his, and let the silence stretch.
