The airstrip hummed around me. Fuel. Heat. A radio crackling by the shade awning. A distant insect pulse under the engine tick of the waiting aircraft.
“She would like you,” he said.
My throat tightened before the rest of me gave permission.
“Let’s not insult her standards this early.”
“She has high ones.”
“Then definitely not.”
His exhale moved through the line, almost a laugh and almost not.
A ranger lifted his hand near the plane. Naomi caught my eye and gave a small nod.
“We’re boarding,” I said.
“I know.”
Of course he knew.
“Nick.”
“Yes.”
“Do not mistake my compliance for a precedent.”
“Noted.”
“That sounded much too calm.”
“I’m writing it down in a place I can ignore later.”
I looked down at the dust on my shoes. “Send me updates.”
“I will.”
The call ended.
I boarded the plane with my sunglasses on and my spine straight, because some habits deserved their excellent reputation.
The flight to Johannesburg passed in fragments. Engine vibration under my feet. Naomi’s quiet work beside me. Cufflink sleeping with his mouth open, which provided the universe with a modest corrective. A bottle of water gone warm in my hand. The landscape below shifting from wild geometry to roads, roofs, industry, city.
By the time I reached the hotel near the airport, my body had the strange hollow buzz of too little sleep, too much restraint, and not nearly enough caffeine to justify continued civility. The room greeted me with sealed-window silence, lemon cleaner, beige carpet, and climate control set three degrees below human comfort. A bowl of green apples sat on the desk beside a card welcoming me by name, each one polished to the waxy shine of corporate hospitality.
Civilization had many sins. Branded fruit was one of them.
My phone found Wi-Fi and detonated.
SUMMER: Confirm location.
ANNIE: Are you safe?
RAYANN: Also confirm whether “safe” includes emotionally, because I have concerns.
ME: Johannesburg airport hotel. Security protocol changed. No one is dead.
I set my bag on the bench at the foot of the bed and typed.
