JENNA The hum of the jet is softer than I expected—more like a low, steady breath than the roar I’m used to on commercial flights. Everything inside is muted: the lighting, the colors, even the air feels calmer, warmer. I sink into the leather seat, my overnight bag tucked under my feet, and try to convince myself this is real. Seven hours. Seven hours between the life I knew and the one I’m flying toward. Sylvia sits across from me, legs crossed, tablet in hand. She hasn’t said much since we boarded. Her presence fills the cabin the way expensive perfume does—quiet but impossible to ignore. I watch the city shrink beneath us through the window. New York dissolves into clouds, and with it, everything I thought I understood about myself. My eyelids grow heavy. I didn’t sleep last night, not really. Every time I drifted off, I heard Eleanor’s voice again—strict, careful, afraid to hope. I curl into the seat, pulling the blanket up to my chin. “Try to rest,” Sylvia says, h
Dernière mise à jour : 2026-05-06
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