JANAYAH

The cabin of the jet smelled like expensive leather and something sharp, like antiseptic. It was colder here than outside, or maybe that was just the chill radiating from my own bones.

Mace didn't just guide me to a seat; he planted me in one, a plush, cream-colored armchair that felt too luxurious for someone like me. I felt dirty sitting in it, like I was going to smudge the pristine fabric with the grime of my past life.

He hovered over me, his sheer size filling the cramped space of the aisle. His hands, large and warm and currently terrifying, fumbled with the intricate buckle of the safety...