Rita's Point Of View
The brutal, endless haul had stretched beyond twenty hours in the air before the wheels of that massive private jet finally screeched onto the tarmac. Twenty hours. My brain felt like mashed potatoes, every thought sluggish and heavy.
Throughout almost the entire journey, I'd been asleep, waking only at odd intervals to blink miserably at the bright sky outside, stuff my face with whatever fancy gourmet snacks the flight attendants offered, and press my headphones tighter against my ears to drown out the engines' low hum with loud music.
The music never quite worked… my thoughts always crept back in, uninvited. Worries about Seraphina, questions about what awaited me at home. The gnawing uncertainty that had become my constant companion.
