2

I place my bag in the plastic bin. My hands tremble as I push it forward. I walk through the metal detector, holding my breath. The red light doesn't flash. The buzzer doesn't sound. I’m clean.

I grab my bag on the other side, nearly tripping in my haste. I don't look back. I walk fast, my stride long and purposeful, pretending I belong. I pass the shops, duty-free liquor, overpriced sunglasses, newsstands. I see a rack of magazines with my face on the cover. Not my face, but the face of the girl I was supposed to be. "Vegas Heiress to Wed Crime Lord." The headline screams at me. I quickly look away, terrified someone will recognize the eyes, the mouth.

I reach Gate D4. The agent is typing at her computer, looking bored. I walk up to the counter, keeping my cap pulled down.

"One ticket," I say, my voice raspy. I clear my throat. "To San Francisco. One way."

She doesn't even look up. "ID?"

I freeze. My driver's license is in my pocket. It says Viella Makendi. Using it is a risk, but I have no choice. I slide it across the counter. She glances at it, then at me. Her eyes linger for a second, maybe noticing the lack of makeup, the messy hair, the frantic energy radiating off me. She looks at the photo, then back at me.

"Visiting?" she asks, her tone flat.

"Family," I lie. "Emergency."

She types something. "That'll be four hundred and twenty dollars."

I peel off the bills from the stack in my pocket. The crisp paper feels dirty. I hand them over. She prints the ticket and slides it back to me along with my ID.

"Boarding starts in five minutes. Group 3."

I take the ticket and walk away, my legs feeling like jelly. I find a seat at the gate, hidden behind a pillar. I hug my bag to my chest, pressing it hard against my breasts. The pressure feels good. It feels real. I watch the people boarding. Families, business men, couples. Normal people.

I close my eyes and I see the study again. I see the blood. I see Dmitri’s cold, dead eyes as he crushed that man’s skull. I imagine what he would do to me if he caught me. He wouldn't kill me quickly. He would make me pay. He would tie me down, spread my legs, and hurt me in ways I can’t even comprehend. The thought sends a jolt of electricity through my nervous system, a mix of terror and a dark, unwanted heat that pools in my belly. My body is confused, reacting to the phantom memory of his dominance. I squeeze my thighs together, trying to suppress the sensation, trying to deny the traitorous wetness that soaks my panties.

"Group 3 is now boarding," the agent announces over the intercom.

I stand up. I adjust my cap. I grip the handle of my bag until my fingers ache. I join the line. I shuffle forward, presenting my ticket. The agent scans it, a beep that sounds like a gunshot in the quiet of my mind.

"Have a nice flight," she says.

I walk down the jet bridge. The air is cool and smells of jet fuel. I step onto the plane. The flight attendant smiles at me, a bright, fake smile. I don't smile back. I find my seat—a window seat in the back. I shove my bag into the overhead compartment, forcing it in. I sit down and buckle my seatbelt, pulling it tight across my lap.

The plane fills up. A young guy sits next to me, wearing headphones. He nods at me. I ignore him, turning my face to the window. Outside, the tarmac is lit up by the harsh glare of floodlights. I see the baggage handlers throwing luggage onto the conveyor belt. I see the wings of the plane flexing in the wind.

The pilot’s voice comes over the speakers. "Flight attendants, prepare for takeoff."

The engines roar to life, a vibration that shakes the whole plane. We push back. We taxi to the runway. My heart is beating so hard I think the person next to me can hear it. I watch the Las Vegas skyline receding in the distance, a glittering jewel of sin and corruption. I am leaving it all behind. The money, the dresses, the arranged marriage, the blood.

The plane pauses at the end of the runway. The engines spool up, screaming with power. The thrust pushes me back into the seat. I close my eyes. I picture Dmitri’s face when he finds the room empty. I picture him standing over the body he created, realizing his prize is gone.

The lift is sudden. The nose of the plane tilts up, and we surge forward, faster and faster. The pressure builds, pinning me to the seat. My stomach drops. And then, the bump. The wheels leave the ground.

We are airborne.

I open my eyes. We are climbing into the darkness, leaving the city lights behind as a smear of orange and gold. I take a deep breath, the first real breath I’ve taken in hours. The air is thin and recycled, but it tastes like freedom.

I reach down between my legs, pressing my hand against the seam of my jeans. The heat is still there, a lingering reminder of the fear, but the terror is beginning to recede, replaced by a cold, hard resolve. I am Velanora now. And I am going to survive.

I look out the window at the black void of the sky, heading west toward San Francisco, toward a new life, toward whatever comes next. I am alone, but for the first time in my life, I am mine.