“Calm down.” Julien reached for his arm, tugging it away from his head. To Julien’s surprise, Cinn grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight, before quickly releasing it, horror on his face. “You can hold my hand anytime.” Julien winked, offering it back to him.
“Why did you make me do this?” Cinn hissed. “This will be the end of all of us. Have you seen how flimsy those wings are? They’re shaking in the wind!”
Julien waved a flight attendant over. “Five double whiskeys please. Preferably Irish.” To his surprise, she went to fetch them with only the slightest shake of her head.
When the shots came, five glasses of amber liquid, Cinn didn’t hesitate before knocking one back, then slamming the glass onto the metal table. Then another, another, another, and another. Julien had intended for the rest of them to have one each, but clearly Cinn had other plans.
“Does alcohol not count as self-medication, then?” Elliot flashed Cinn a snarky grin.
“Let me have my one vice.”
“What’s your smoking habit then, a pastime?”
Julien stifled a laugh.
Ignoring Elliot, Cinn glanced back to the table laden with empty shot glasses, eyes widening. He shot Julien a panicked look. “I can’t actually pay for those.”
Chuckling, Elliot leaned back in his chair. “The entertainment you’re about to provide us with should cover it.”
“When does it take off again?” Cinn rocked his whole body forward and back.
“Probably not for another thirty minutes or so. Preflight checks and such,” said Darcy.
Cinn moaned, pressing his hand to his face. From his rucksack, he whipped out his Walkman, then violently shoved his headphones over his head. “Goodbye,” he announced, squeezing his eyes shut and slamming his head back against the headrest.
The three of them burst into laughter.
The sound of Cinn’s godawful music could just be heard over the ruckus of other boarding passengers; he’d turned it up to maximum volume.
When the plane finally started to manoeuvre across to the runway, an attendant looked poised to reach over to Cinn, and Julien’s arm shot out to block her.
“Sir, he really should listen to the safety briefing.”
“He’s a frequent flyer,” Julien said, shooting her his most charming smile, and she scampered off to bother someone else.
The take-off was uneventfully smooth, and their cabin became quiet as the captain dimmed the lights, passengers talking in hushed whispers. Cinn continued to squeeze his eyes shut and jiggle his leg, all the way through it, until his movements became slower and slower.
Darcy nodded her chin at Cinn. “I think he’s asleep.”
Indeed, his head now lay slumped against the side. The combination of the adrenaline crash with the alcohol must have knocked him out. He wouldn’t be their delightfully drunk entertainment after all. Julien would far rather he slept through it, however, and his mouth couldn’t help but twitch into a smile at his peaceful face—his expression carrying none of its usual tension—as he leaned over to close the window blinds.
Julien gestured towards Elliot’s similarly slumped form. “So is he. He was up at four a.m. though, with an early training session to make up for missing tomorrow’s.”
“Do you ever miss it?” Darcy said quietly, referring to the period of time where Julien had studied the practice of physically channelling motes alongside Elliot. The period of time forever known as ‘before’ in his head.
“Not the intense physical regime of it all, no.” But… there wassomethingabout the feeling of channelling that he’d never forget, never completely get away from. A feeling of invulnerability. Of power. Of security.
Eleanor’s words from their last meeting resurfaced. Had she spoken to Darcy? “Why do you ask?”
She nudged her leg against his. “Only because it’s my job to look out for you. Sometimes, when Elliot is talking about his day, you get this faraway look in your eye.”
“Motetech is what I’m good at.”
“Sure. We all know you’re on track to become some sort of tech prodigy. However, Elliot always says how insanely good you were at channelling.”
A tiny dash of turbulence rocked the aeroplane, and Julien’s gaze flashed straight to Cinn, bracing for him to wake up in terror. Still fast asleep, he only shifted from leaning against the window to landing his head on Julien’s shoulder, mumbling something incomprehensible.
Julien became very still.
