The plane hums beneath me like a tired lullaby. Private jets aren't supposed to feel lonely, but this one does. It's quiet. Too quiet. The kind that makes your thoughts louder than they need to be.
Kira hasn't said a word all flight. Not even a sigh. Just a coiled silence in the back of my mind, like she’s waiting for something to snap.
I stare out the window, watching clouds peel away from the sky like tissue paper. The farther we get from Italy, the easier it is to breathe… but not by much.
My chest still feels stuffed with invisible cotton. My bones feel… tired. Like they’ve held too much for too long.
The landing is smooth. Almost annoyingly so. No drama. No turbulence. Just the dull thud of tires kissing the ground.
Dante’s already waiting near the car when I step off the plane.
