He raises a brow, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “You want me to take care of her?”
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “You watch her. She’s off-limits to everyone. I don’t care what else happens—she’s not to be touched. No one gets near her. Not Kirov. Not anyone.”
For a moment, Nikolai doesn’t say anything, but I can see the gears turning in his head, all the things he isn’t saying. He just nods, one soldier to another. “Understood.” He glances at me, something like curiosity in his eyes. “She disappeared on you, didn’t she?”
I just nod, jaw tight. The whole plane feels heavier, like the walls are pressing in.
Nikolai lets it drop, giving me a long, considering look, but whatever he’s thinking stays unspoken. He just sets his shoulders and moves off, ready to do his job.
After splitting off from Nikolai, I make my way up the aisle, my thoughts racing. Kirov on the plane, a body in business class, Bella just across the aisle with her daughter. I try to keep my pace measured, not wanting to draw any more attention, but every step feels heavy. No matter how many times I scan the passengers’ faces, nothing makes sense. I catch myself checking for threats, just out of habit—watching hands, eyes, little movements—then reminding myself that I’m not on a street corner back home. I’m in a tin can thirty thousand feet up.
I turn the corner and there she is. Bella’s standing near the first class curtain, arms folded tight around herself, looking for me. Relief flickers through me, but I keep my voice steady as I approach.
She looks up. “There you are.” Her voice is rough, low—she’s scared but trying not to show it. “I thought you were coming right back. What’s going on?”
I lower my voice. “Is your daughter okay?”
“She’s out. Went right back to sleep, even with all the noise.” Bella glances toward her seat, worry plain in her eyes. “Aleksander, what is happening?”
I sigh, running a hand through my hair, searching for the simplest way to explain. “I don’t have all the details yet. The crew’s locked everything down. I just need you to stay close to your cabin, okay? Don’t open your door for anyone but me.”
She frowns, stepping a little closer. “You always do this—circle the wagons and keep me in the dark. I’m not helpless.”
I almost smile, despite everything. “I know you’re not. But please. Just this once, trust me. If something goes wrong, I’ll be there in seconds.”
She studies my face, searching for something—reassurance, maybe, or the truth behind my calm. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”
I meet her gaze and swallow. “I just…want you and your daughter safe.”
She doesn’t push, but I can tell she has a hundred questions on the tip of her tongue. The moment stretches, then she glances past me, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re scaring me, Aleksander.”
“I won’t let anything happen to you.”
We stand together, the low hum of the engines and cabin voices blending in the background. For a second, everything is still.
She opens her mouth like she might argue, but closes it again, nods once, and glances back toward her cabin. “Just…come back, okay?”
I give her hand a final squeeze. “I promise.” Then I let go, turning back toward the lounge. To the right are the stairs that lead upstairs.
Nikolai is waiting for me at the bottom of the staircase. He motions to me. There aren’t as many people as before; most have dispersed.
I move quietly, not wanting to attract attention. Most of the passenger suites are shut, with the lights on. They’re awake but they don’t want to see a dead body. Understandable. For most people, this is the first and last dead body they’ll see in their life.
A young flight attendant is standing next to a cabin which I’m assuming is where they found the body. Someone has cordoned off the area with makeshift curtains.
I lower my voice, just for her. “I can help. Let me see.”
“Are you with law enforcement?”
“No,” I say honestly. “But I’m in this line of work.” Which isn’t exactly a lie.
She hesitates, eyes wide, but there’s something in my face that makes her step aside. Maybe it’s the way I look when things are serious, or maybe she’s just out of her depth and wants someone else to take charge. Either way, I slip past the curtain, into a hush that feels colder, heavier than the rest of the cabin.
The air in here smells metallic, faintly sweet. It’s quiet except for the soft, useless mutter of another attendant, wringing her hands by an empty drinks cart. Then I see him—slumped in a window seat, a dried trickle of blood from where he hit his head when he fell, but that wasn’t what killed him. A little bit of foam surrounds his pale lips.
For a second I just stare, the world narrowing to the slack jaw, the closed eyelids, the rough stubble along his jawline.
Kirov.
