I stay quiet for the rest of the plane ride, my mind swirling with the events of the day. Lazarus is busy on his laptop, his brow furrowed in concentration, clearly immersed in whatever business he’s handling. Donovan, on the other hand, is making himself a drink at the bar. He notices me looking at him and smirks.
"You want a drink?" he asks, his tone almost playful.
I nod, yes. Donovan glances over at Lazarus, who gives a subtle nod of approval. I roll my eyes at the silent exchange, feeling like a child needing permission.
“What do you want?” Donovan asks, turning back to me. “We have all sorts of liquor, beers, or wine. I made sure it was stocked before we left.”
“I don’t care. Anything,” I reply, my voice flat.
Donovan studies me for a moment before deciding. “I think you need so
