GARRISON

"Garrison.”

The whisper was a low, breathless thread, barely carrying over the steady hum of the jet engines, but it cut straight through my defenses like a blade.

I turned my head slowly. The amber safety lighting of the cabin cast long, velvet shadows across the aisle, but even in the gloom, her hazel eyes were wide open, staring directly into mine. Her small frame was curled tight inside that oversized gray cashmere sweater, her fingers gripping the fabric past her knuckles. She looked fragile, haunted, and so utterly beautiful it made my lungs ache.

The unvarnished vulnerability in her gaze felt like a physical hand wrapping around my...