Chapter 2 - The Grasp and the Gallery
The sound of Linda's grip tightening on the boy's sleeve seemed to echo in the sudden silence of the cabin. Noah let out a sharp, frightened gasp, trying to pull away, but Linda was strong, conditioned by decades of wrestling stubborn overhead luggage and unruly passengers.
“You can’t just sit here and hold up an entire departure,” Linda hissed, her voice low enough to keep from drawing attention from the flight deck, but sharp enough to sting. “Get up. Now.”
Before I could cross the bulkhead and intervene, a sudden movement broke the tension from behind me. A man seated in 1C—a middle-aged executive in a bespoke navy suit who had been watching the scene with narrowed eyes—cleared his throat. It wasn't a polite cough; it was a heavy, commanding sound that made Linda pause.
“Let go of the boy, ma'am,” the man said smoothly. His voice carried the effortless authority of someone accustomed to giving orders that people followed immediately.
Linda blinked, turning her head with an offended expression. “Sir, this is a security and operational matter. Unaccompanied minors cannot occupy—"
“I don't care about your operational manual,” the man interrupted, his gaze shifting from Linda to the terrified child cowering against the window. “I care about a flight attendant laying hands on a six-year-old child who is clearly terrified. Back away from him.”
Linda's cheeks flushed a mottled red. In her twenty-five years with the airline, no passenger had ever spoken to her like that in the forward cabin. “I am simply doing my job, sir. If you have a complaint, you can speak to the purser after takeoff.”
“I am Arthur Vance,” the man said quietly, pulling a sleek black card from his jacket pocket without showing it entirely, “and if you pull that boy's arm one more inch, your next conversation won't be with a purser. It will be with federal investigators regarding assault on an elite passenger's minor dependent.”
The name Vance seemed to hang in the recycled air of the cabin like static electricity. I didn't know who Arthur Vance was at that exact second, but I could tell by the way Linda's posture stiffened that she recognized the weight behind it. Her fingers loosened around Noah's sleeve, though she pulled her hand back as if she had been burned rather than reasoned with.
“Fine,” Linda muttered, her voice tight with suppressed fury. “Let's see what the manifests say. Ryan, get over here and pull up the electronic passenger list right now. Let's clear this up before the captain locks the door.”
I didn't need to be told twice. I hurried past her, my tablet already out, my thumb tapping frantically against the screen to access the internal departure control system. My hands felt slightly clammy against the cold glass of the device. Boarding passes can be faked, seats can be swapped by confused gate agents, and airline computer systems were notorious for glitching during last-minute aircraft swaps. But something deep in my gut told me that Noah hadn't snuck onto this plane by accident.
“Give me the boarding pass, buddy,” I said softly, crouching down to Noah's eye level so I didn't tower over him.
Noah looked at me with eyes so wide and dark they looked like pools of ink. Slowly, with trembling fingers, he extended the crumpled slip of thermal paper.
“My dad went to get water,” Noah whispered, his voice barely audible over the hum of the auxiliary power unit. “He told me to stay in the big chair. He said nobody would bother me if I showed them the paper.”
“I know, Noah. You're doing great,” I murmured, taking the paper gingerly.
I scanned the barcode using my tablet's built-in reader. The screen flickered, loading data from the Seattle hub server. A green checkmark appeared instantly, accompanied by a soft, cheerful chime that usually indicated a standard first-class ticket.
Passenger Confirmed: Parker, Noah. Seat: 2A. Class: First (Paid).
“See?” Linda crossed her arms again, though her tone was defensive now. “He has a ticket. Probably booked under a family miles pool or a glitching corporate portal. But where is the adult? Where is the guardian? We cannot fly across the country with an unaccompanied six-year-old without an authorized release form filed at the gate.”
“Let me check the primary passenger profile,” I said, my fingers flying across the tablet interface, tapping into the deeper layers of the booking record—the notes section that gate agents rarely filled out unless something unusual was flagged by corporate security.
I tapped on the primary account holder linked to Noah's ticket. The screen refreshed, pulling up the master reservation history, payment details, and special service requests.
May you like
As the data loaded, the color drained entirely from my face.
The glowing white light of the screen illuminated my skin, making me look as pale as a ghost. My breath hitched in my throat, and the cabin around me suddenly felt like it was spinning on its axis.
