Page 317 of Black Reign

She catches it.

“Do not laugh.”

“I'm not.”

“You're amused.”

“Slightly.”

“I could still leave.”

I take her hand.

She stops.

The smile leaves me.

“You could.”

That matters.

I want her on the plane.

I want her in France.

I want her married to me badly enough that I am deliberately refusing to examine why the thought no longer feels remotely practical.

But she gets the choice.

Always.

Sabine looks down at our hands.

Then toward the aircraft.

“Does it shake?”

“Sometimes.”

Her eyes narrow.

“Very reassuring.”

“It flies.”

“That is the part I find concerning.”

I lead her toward the stairs.

Her grip tightens with each step.

By the time we reach the cabin, she is crushing three of my fingers.

I say nothing.

The interior has been stripped of anything unnecessary for this flight. My security team is forward. One lawyer. One pilot team.

No staff circulating around her.