The flight back home was quiet.
Not silent.
Not empty.
But quiet in a way that wrapped around Amelia and stayed there.
The soft hum of the engines filled the cabin, steady and constant. Passengers spoke in low voices, seatbelts clicked occasionally, and somewhere nearby, a child laughed softly.
But none of it reached her.
Not really.
Amelia sat by the window, her head slightly tilted, her gaze fixed on the clouds stretching endlessly outside.
White.
Soft.
Endless.
They moved slowly, blending into one another like time had no urgency.
Like nothing was chasing it.
She hadn’t said much since they boarded.
Her family noticed.
Of course they did.
Her mother had glanced at her once or twice, her siblings whispering softly among themselves, her father simply watching her with that
