Page 53 of Mile High Ruin

Hale notices. His gaze drops briefly, then comes back to my face. “You’ve become very formal.”

“I have always been formal with you.”

Something hard passes through his expression. Then Camille calls my name from the galley, and I turn away without waiting for him to answer.

The rest of the flight begins normally enough.

Documents are spread across the table in front of Vadim and his men.

Camille and I move through the cabin with practiced efficiency while Hale disappears into the cockpit, though every time the door opens I become aware of him before I even see him.

Vadim says little to me. When I set down his coffee, he thanks me quietly. When I refill his water, his fingers brush mine once and neither of us acknowledges it. When I pass behind his chair, I feel his gaze follow me.

There’s an apology sitting somewhere inside my throat all evening, but I can’t find the right moment to give it to him, and every time I consider approaching him, Hale reappears or Camille needs something or another part of the service begins.

Eventually, even embarrassment can’t compete with exhaustion.

The cabin has grown quieter, the lights dimmed low enough that the polished surfaces around me have softened into shadows, and the constant vibration of the engines has become a monotonous hum beneath everything else.

I’ve been awake for far too long, running mostly on adrenaline, coffee, and stubbornness, and now that the passengers need almost nothing from us, my body is beginning to demand repayment.

Captain Hale’s voice comes over the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re expecting an area of moderate turbulence ahead. For your safety, please return to your seats and keep your seat belts fastened until the sign has been switched off.”

Camille and I secure the galley immediately.

I’ve worked through turbulence severe enough to send service carts several inches off the floor, and nothing about the aircraft’s movement currently suggests anything unusual, but weather can change quickly and the pilots have access to reports I don’t.

Camille takes the rear crew seat. Mine is at the front, tucked beside the galley a short distance from the cockpit. I sit down, pull the harness across myself, and fasten it securely.

For the first time in hours, there’s nothing immediately demanding my attention.

Within minutes, my eyelids begin to feel heavy. I rest my head back against the seat and close my eyes, telling myself that I’m not sleeping, only resting them for a moment.

The engines drone steadily around me. There’s almost no movement in the aircraft. There’s no rattling, no sudden drops, and no sign of the moderate turbulence we were warned about.

I’m too tired to think much about that.

A sound reaches me from the aisle. Footsteps.

My eyes open, and for one humiliating instant, the first person I think of is Vadim. The thought is so automatic that I become annoyed with myself before I even see who’s approaching.

Then Captain Hale rounds the galley.

Whatever sleepy warmth remained in me disappears immediately.

He’s not supposed to be here.

I straighten. “Captain?”

He stops a few feet away.

Something about him is wrong. His tie has been loosened, and the crisp precision he had when the passengers boarded is gone from his uniform. His hair is slightly disordered, and there’s a shine across his forehead that has nothing to do with exertion.

More importantly, his eyes are unfocused.

I look toward the cockpit. “Is everything all right?”

“The copilot has control.” His voice is thicker than it was earlier.