Adam had never been on a plane that wasn't headed somewhere familiar.
Chicago, once. Mexico, once. Both times, he'd been chasing something—Harmon, answers, closure. Now he was flying to Argentina, chasing a ghost named Anton Volkov, and he wasn't sure what he'd find at the end.
Nina sat across the aisle, her head against the window, her eyes closed. She wasn't sleeping. Adam could tell by the way her fingers twitched, tapping an invisible rhythm on the armrest.
Sandra was in the seat next to him. She'd insisted on coming. “You're not going to the other side of the world without me.” He hadn't argued.
The plane hummed through the night, somewhere over the Caribbean. Adam stared at the seatback screen, a map of their route, a tiny plane crawling across the blue.
“What do you think he lo
