CINNAMON
The hangar lights felt like knives stabbing through my skull.
I'd been waiting since seven. It was now past nine. My head throbbed with every heartbeat, nausea rolling in waves that threatened to break through the careful control I'd maintained.
Mixing beer and wine had been stupid. I knew better. Had a light tolerance for alcohol on good days, and last night definitely hadn't been a good day.
I'd given up on the waiting area chairs an hour ago. Found a car parked in the corner and asked the hangar staff if I could sit inside.
Now I was curled in the backseat, sunglasses on despite the pitch darkness, head resting against leather. My hand kept making circles in the air, some weird involuntary movement I couldn't stop. Hangover vertigo, maybe.
A tap on the window made me winc
