Chapter 5: The First Flight

The chime woke me from a deep, dreamless sleep. The panel on the wall glowed.
Pack for Chicago. We leave in two hours.

I sat up, the sheets whispering against my skin. Pack. The word felt foreign, like a relic from a past life. I looked around the empty room. There was nothing to pack. No suitcase in the closet. No clothes to fold. The instruction was a formality, a ghost of a routine that no longer applied to me.

I performed my morning ritual: teeth, hair, and a splash of water on my face. When I opened my bedroom door, a small, black leather folio was leaning against the wall. It was sleek, unadorned. I picked it up. It was empty. This was my luggage. A symbol. Something for me to carry so my hands wouldn’t look idle.

Angelica was already in the foyer, dressed in a sharp, travel-ready suit. A small wheeled suitcase stood beside her. She looked me over, her gaze pausing on the folio in my hand. A flicker of approval.

“Good. Let’s go.”

The car took us to the private aviation terminal. The world here was hushed and efficient. No long lines, no crowded security. We were ushered through a separate, glass-walled corridor. A few well-dressed people glanced our way. Their eyes widened for a split second when they saw me, then snapped back to a carefully cultivated neutrality. They were the kind of people who were paid not to see things.

We stepped out onto the tarmac. A sleek, white jet waited, its stairs lowered. The wind whipped across the concrete, cool and biting against my bare skin. I followed Angelica up the stairs, the metal steps cold under my feet.

Inside, the jet was a room from the penthouse, but with wings. Cream-colored leather seats, dark wood, everything secured and perfect. A flight attendant in an immaculate uniform gave a professional smile. “Welcome aboard, Ms. Howell.” Her eyes slid over me and away, as if I were a piece of furniture being loaded.

Angelica took a seat by the window and immediately opened her laptop. I stood, uncertain.

“Sit there,” she said, nodding to the single seat across the aisle from her. It faced her, so I was always in her line of sight.

I sat, placing the empty folio on my lap. The engine’s whine built to a roar, and the jet began to move. I looked out the window as Seattle fell away beneath us, shrinking into a toy city.

I was leaving my old life behind in every sense now. I was taking nothing with me but the skin I was in.

The jet leveled off. The seatbelt sign chimed and went dark. The flight attendant moved quietly, placing a bottle of water and a small bowl of nuts on the table next to Angelica. She then placed an identical set on the table next to me, her movements smooth and practiced, her gaze never dropping below my chin.

I took a sip of water. The cool liquid felt good. I looked at Angelica. She was typing, completely absorbed. Her focus was absolute. I realized my role here was the same as in the office. I was part of the environment. A component of her world that was meant to be silent and still.