Chapter 3 - Shadows in the Sky
Back in seat 14B, my heart was still hammering against my ribs. I dropped into my narrow chair and immediately reached over to check on Maya. She was still fast asleep, her thumb tucked into her mouth and her arm wrapped around her worn velvet rabbit. I pulled the rough airline blanket tighter around her shoulders, whispering a silent prayer of thanks that she hadn't woken up while I was gone.
The flight progressed in relative quiet. Without the baby's distress filling the cabin, the heavy silence of an overnight transatlantic flight settled over the aircraft. Passengers dimmed their overhead lights, pulled down window shades, and drifted off to sleep. But I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the faces of the people we were running from.
Four days ago, our apartment in Chicago had ceased to be a home. After our parents disappeared two years prior, our uncle had taken custody of us—not out of love, but for the monthly government support checks. But when those checks stopped, his patience evaporated. The night I decided to run, he had been shouting at someone on the phone about debts, mentioning taking Maya to an state care facility while selling off whatever was left in our apartment. I knew that if we stayed, we would be separated forever.
So, I waited until he passed out on the couch, grabbed our hidden savings—painstakingly gathered from small errands and forgotten cash in cereal boxes—and dragged Maya into the cold night air. We took a bus to New York, then bought the cheapest international tickets to Europe. Rome was our destination because of Aunt Beatrice, a distant relative who had once sent us a Christmas card with a handwritten note saying, If you ever need a place, my door is open.
"Excuse me, miss?"
A quiet voice startled me out of my thoughts. I jumped, my hand instinctively dropping to cover the hidden pouch inside my jacket where our remaining money and documents were kept.
Standing in the aisle was the flight attendant from first class. She was holding a large silver tray laden with fresh fruit, warm pastries, real glass cups of apple juice, and two plush, high-end travel blankets.
"Mr. Vance asked me to bring this to you and your sister," she whispered, offering a warm, respectful smile. "He also asked if there's anything else you need for the duration of the flight."
I looked at the luxurious food. My stomach rumbled audibly—Maya and I had shared a single cold sandwich at the terminal six hours ago.
"We can't pay for this," I said guardedly, keeping my voice low.
"It’s already taken care of," the flight attendant assured me, setting the tray gently onto my fold-down table. "Mr. Vance is... a very generous man when he wants to be. Enjoy your flight, Elena."
She walked away, leaving behind the rich scent of warm cinnamon and fresh strawberries. I woke Maya up gently. Her big brown eyes fluttered open, and when she saw the food, her face lit up with pure childhood joy. We ate quietly in the dim light of the cabin, savoring every bite as if it were our last meal.
May you like
However, my relief was short-lived. As I reached for a glass of juice, I caught sight of the large security guard, Marcus, standing at the edge of the blue curtain. He wasn't looking at the cabin; he was looking directly at us. He held a small tablet in his hand, his eyes flicking between the screen and my face.
A cold wave of panic rushed through my veins. A ten-year-old girl traveling alone with a three-year-old toddler on an international flight with one small suitcase was an obvious anomaly. If Arthur Vance used his vast resources to look into who "Elena Vance" was, he would quickly realize I didn't exist.
