MAYA
“They had every right to hate us. I wouldn't have blamed them if they'd spit in our faces.”
The heat hit me the moment we stepped off the plane. Thick, humid air that made my lungs work harder. Hanoi's airport buzzed with travelers, but I barely registered with them. All I could think about was the collapsed factory, the bodies still trapped under concrete.
A driver waited for us outside. He didn't speak much English, just nodded and loaded our bags. The city blurred past the windows as we drove. Street vendors, motorbikes weaving through traffic, buildings stacked close together. Normal life continued while people died under rubble.
My phone wouldn't stop buzzing. News alerts, lawyers, board members demanding we return immediately. I turned it off.
"You okay?" Dominic asked. His
