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.

across the aisle in a tailored navy suit that fit him like a mindset. His watch caught the light every time he moved, which was often. He leaned toward the man beside him, Derek Sloan—a younger version of the same type, neat haircut, perfect smile, polished loafers, phone filled with constantly shifting numbers.

Derek smirked, glancing at 22C.

“Maybe continue reading …