Chapter 4

Chapter

Four

The gentle riseand fall of her breath against my shoulder is nothing like the panic that had consumed her earlier. She"s deep in sleep, her face relaxed, the lines of worry that had etched her features at the airport now smoothed away. The plane"s hum serves as a backdrop to my thoughts, which are unexpectedly centered on the stranger resting against me. There"s something about her, something that goes beyond the initial intrigue of a fellow shifter afraid to fly. It"s not just the fear that had her gripping the armrests during takeoff, or the way she sought comfort in the grip of my hand; it"s the underlying current of something deeper, something that speaks of a story untold.

As the captain announces our initial descent, I know I"ll have to wake her soon. Part of me resists the idea, not wanting to disturb the peace she"s found, however fleeting it might be. But reality waits for no one, not even a weary traveler seeking solace in the skies.

"We're landing soon," I whisper in her ear.

When she stirs, her eyes flutter open, revealing the same haunted blue that had caught my attention at the airport. "I"m sorry," she murmurs, her voice hoarse from sleep. You should have woken me." There's a vulnerability in the way she apologizes, as if she"s used to taking up too little space, used to saying sorry for things that need no apology.

"You had a rough takeoff," I say, offering her a smile that I hope conveys more reassurance than pity. "I"m just glad you slept."

She nods, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, but it doesn"t quite reach her eyes. Those eyes tell a story of their own, one of weariness and perhaps a touch of sorrow. It"s none of my business, of course. Yet, as she struggles to gather her belongings, looking every bit the part of someone who"s had more than just a long day, I can"t help but feel a protective stir within me.

The plane lands with a gentle thud, a far cry from the dramatic ascent that had marked the beginning of our journey. She seems barely aware of the landing, still ensnared in the fog of sleep, alcohol, and whatever pill the older woman had given her.

As we stand to deplane, I reach up to retrieve her carry-on from the overhead compartment, passing it to her with a casual, "Here you go." She takes it, her hands steadying as she grips the handle, and I can"t help but wonder where she"s headed, who's waiting for her in Tampa.

With my backpack slung over my shoulder, I step into the aisle, ready to face the press of passengers eager to disembark. Glancing back at her, I"m struck by the urge to offer more than just a parting nod, to somehow ease her way. But she"s a stranger, her battles not mine to fight. Yet, as I exit the plane, her image lingers, and I wonder if I'll ever see her again.