The low hum of the engines droned steadily in the background as the plane cut through the pale evening sky, the world far below vanishing into cloud and light.
First class was quiet, luxurious — all warm leather, soft gold lights, and the faint scent of expensive cologne lingering from earlier passengers.
Izan sat comfortably by the window, legs stretched slightly, his jacket draped neatly over the armrest.
Beside him, Olivia dozed lightly, her face turned toward him in her sleep, the smallest frown tugging at her brow.
She shifted her voice barely a murmur.
"...blanket," she whispered, barely audible.
Izan's lips twitched into the faintest smile. Carefully, he reached up and pressed the call button.
Within moments, one of the flight attendants appeared — young, maybe three or four years older than him, her smile bright but wavering slightly the moment she recognized who she was facing.
"I—uh—how can I help you, sir?" she said, smoothing a hand down her uniform.
