They mocked the woman in seat 22C—until two fighter jets aligned with her window, and a pilot spoke her name in a way that made the entire plane forget how to breathe.

on them. Laptops open. Jackets carefully placed. Reflections checked in dark screens. Expensive coffee in cupholders.

The woman in 22C looked out of place.

Which, to people like Greg, felt like an insult.

She was twenty-nine, though no one there would have guessed it. Exhaustion adds years where makeup usually erases them. A thin white scar traced her continue reading …