The wheels hit the runway with a soft thump and the second we slow to a taxi, I swear I hear tyres screeching outside.
Caden glances out the window and mutters, “Oh no.”
Ryan peers out from behind him. “Oh… gosh.”
“They brought binoculars,” I whisper, horrified.
Sure enough, standing at the edge of the private runway—despite very clear airport security protocol—is Mum, dressed like she’s leading a search-and-rescue mission, and Dad in full tactical gear with binoculars strapped to his face like a knockoff SWAT team. An army surrounds them like we are the president of the United states, and they have been tasked at transporting us in the middle of the apocalypse.
“Oh my actual gosh,” May groans, burying her face in Ryan’s chest. “Pretend I’m asleep. Or dead.”
Ryan pulls the blanket o
