Captain Jonathan Markell’s face had paled, his usually steady hands gripping the cockpit doorframe as though he needed the support. He was a seasoned pilot, a veteran himself, and he knew exactly what that tattoo meant. To many, it was just ink. To him, it was a symbol of dedication, sacrifice, and a connection that ran deeper than civilian eyes could see.
The whispers crescendoed into a murmur that filled the plane like rising water. Passengers craned their necks, trying to catch sight of what had caught the pilot’s attention. Rhea, feeling the weight of all those eyes upon her, stood quietly, her demeanor calm and poised as if still on a mission.
The commotion reached the ears of the first-class passenger who had forced Rhea out of her seat. Her smug expression faltered as she realized this was not the simple matter she thought it to be.
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