Viktor stepped forward and held out his hand, formal in a way that felt foreign coming from him. I took it. His grip was solid, brief. “Safe travels.”
“You too. When you eventually travel somewhere that isn't a war zone.”
Sebastian laughed. “That's everywhere with him.”
One by one they said their versions of goodbye. Dom clasped my shoulder hard enough to bruise. Cal offered a dry comment about staying out of jail. Ethan hugged me, quick and tight and over before I could tense up about it.
Then there was nothing left but the walk across the tarmac, my bag slung over my shoulder, Luka and Ash falling into step on either side.
The plane waited. Small, private, the kind of luxury I'd gotten used to working for Adrian but still didn't quite feel entitled to. Luka climbed the stairs first, Ash behind him, and I followed, feeling the weight of too many eyes watching my back.
Inside the cabin was all cream leather and polished wood, seats arranged to face each other with a small table between. Luka and Ash took one side. I dropped into the seat across from them, tossed my bag on the floor, and stared out the window at the terminal growing smaller as we taxied toward the runway.
The engines hummed. The world tilted. And then we were airborne, London falling away beneath us in a patchwork of gray and green and ancient architecture that had survived worse things than my departure.
I waited for relief. For the tension in my shoulders to ease now that I was finally moving, finally doing what I'd been circling around for weeks. It didn't come. Just sat there under my ribs, heavy and familiar, the weight of going home to a place that had never stopped feeling like a wound.
Luka was on his phone within minutes, typing with focused intensity. Ash had pulled out a book, some thick hardcover that looked dense and complicated, but his attention kept drifting to Luka, checking in without making it obvious. They'd been together long enough that the small gestures looked automatic. Ash's hand resting on the armrest between them, close enoughthat Luka could reach it if he wanted. The way Luka's posture relaxed incrementally whenever Ash was in his line of sight.
I looked away. Stared at clouds instead.
The flight attendant came by offering drinks. I asked for whiskey. She brought it in a crystal glass that caught the light, amber liquid that burned going down and did fuck all to settle my nerves. I drank it anyway. Signaled for another.
“Pacing yourself?” Ash asked, not looking up from his book.
“Always.”
“Mm.”
Luka set his phone down, leaned back in his seat, and studied me. “You going to tell me what's really happening, or do I have to guess?”
“Nothing's happening. Just need time away.”
“Time away,” Luka repeated. His tone stayed neutral, but his eyes said he wasn't buying it. “From what?”
“Everything.”
“More specific.”
I took another drink, let the burn settle. “Just need to go home for a while. Clear my head. Deal with some shit.”
“What shit?”
“Personal shit.”
“Troy.”
I set the glass down harder than necessary. “I don't know, all right? I just need to be there. Can't explain it better than that.”
Luka watched me for another beat, then nodded once. “Fair enough.”
“That's it? No interrogation?”
“Would it help?”
“No.”
“Then there's your answer.” He picked up his phone again.
