I felt the heat creep up my neck. Not embarrassment — I’d forgotten what that felt like decades ago. It was something older, colder. The same thing I’d felt at 40,000 feet over the Philippine Sea, when a caution light told me I was bleeding hydraulic fluid and a bomber was twenty miles ahead. When you’ve faced worse, you learn to get very still.
I set the cup down. The ceramic clinked softly against the counter.
“You checked my airline file,” I said. My voice was quiet. “That’s what, the last four years? Did you check anything before that?”
He shrugged. “You came from a regional that went under. That’s what I heard. Not exactly combat aviation, sweetheart.”
That word. Sweetheart.
The flight attendant flinched. I didn’t.
“Do me a favor,” he said, stepping closer. He was in my space now, the way people do when they’ve never been knocked
