Page 55 of These Tears

The queue moves. He moves with it, keeping me pinned between his body and the passengers ahead, as he lifts his other hand—

—with a boarding pass.

My gaze catches on the details, but I can’t recognise the name: Jakob Halvorsen.

For a second, the noise around me drops away.

Same flight.

Same gate.

Not coincidence.

Cromwell’s warnings crash into me. Elias’, too.

‘I said smile,’ he rumbles, squeezing my arm.

Tilting my head, as if to answer some private joke, I nearly fall over myself when I finally see his face.

The cap casts a shadow over his brow. Black hair, buzzed at the sides into a clean fade. Dark beard covering his face.

His mouth is flat. A muscle jumps once along his cheek.

But the eyes.

The blue holds me.

Too bright for this light. Too familiar to be anyone but his.

My smile fractures.

‘Elias?’

11

His grip doesn’t loosen once as the queue inches forwards. Unzipping his black puffer jacket, he tugs his tan scarf free until both ends rest against his chest and his chin tilts as he takes in the surroundings.

‘What… How?’ The questions claw out, but the screaming in my head won’t let me form a coherent sentence.

‘Give me your phone,’ he orders. Softly. Through a smile meant to bite.

I barely get it out before it slips from my fingers and skids across the floor. He retrieves it quickly, then tucks it inside his jacket.

Left pocket.

‘You’re my fiancée, we’re going to visit my family,’ he instructs as his eyes sweep the area. When they reach me, they snag on my engagement ring, and he gives it a scornful glare. ‘You’re going to be a good girl, Leah.’ He lifts his gaze, arm tightening around my waist until my body jolts with a warning of air-loss. He stays warm against me, every measured word travelling through us both. ‘You’re going to do exactly as I say, or I’m taking down the plane and everyone in it.’ He says it so calmly – as if it isn’t a threat, but an inevitability.

My mouth opens, tears beginning to well behind my lids as I zero in on two teenagers and three toddlers in the line.

‘You wouldn’t…’ I start, staring up at him. Not Elias Crane. Not the man who bled emotion into ink.

He turns me slightly until I’m in his arms entirely and he dips his head as if to feign a lover’s embrace.

With a thumb, he wipes away the tear on my cheek, the contact dragging softly over my skin before his hand settles on my jaw. Then he presses me harder against him to punctuate the warning.

‘Stop crying.’ The words are flat. No hesitation. No flicker of remorse. Nothing in his face to suggest he understands what his grip is doing to me.

He smiles down at me with hooded eyes, pretending to be entirely taken with my face.