Freedom Falling 🇦🇺

The deep hum of the engines pulsed beneath Alexej's feet. The cabin walls trembled. Trays rattled inside the trolley compartments. The whole galley clinked and creaked like it had a life of its own.

God, he loved that.

His hands moved through the motions of securing the galley, unhurried and precise. He clicked the silver oven latches shut, tucked away kettles and coffee pots, locked the metal doors. The occasional jolt from the aircraft kept him alert, but not enough to demand focus. Economy was mostly asleep. Business had no requests. Everything was running smoothly—if it weren't for the damned tension behind his forehead.

One hand braced against the stainless steel bench, he brushed a few dark strands of hair from his face and rubbed at his temple. For the past two hours, the dull throb behind his eyes had built into a persistent pressure. No surprise there. One short-haul with a turnaround at dawn, followed by two mid-range flights—anyone would be feeling it. He'd been on duty for twelve hours and barely sat down once. Hopefully they'd land on time in Adelaide, get everyone off the plane quickly, and then he could collapse into his hotel bed by ten.

A solid rumble rolled through the aircraft. Alexej wiped his palms on the fabric of his dark jacket and reached for the cabin tablet to check the weather. Turbulence had picked up steadily since their windy departure from Perth, the side effects of a cyclone building north of Darwin. They had two anxious flyers on board—22D and 31A. Once he was done checking the equipment, he'd check in on them and then brief the crew for landing—

"Alexej?"

The blue curtain to Business Class rustled open. Koah, the newest member of the team and Winga Air's youngest flight attendant at just eighteen, stepped through.

"Koah." Alexej smiled as the kid dropped his gaze shyly. Starched uniform, stiff posture, obedient down to the soles of his shoes. Just like Alexej on his first flight ten years ago. "All good up front?"

"Yeah, um..." Koah fidgeted with the hem of his midnight-blue vest. His dark lips looked dry from the cabin air. He cleared his throat softly. "Bit of an issue with a guest. He's asking for a glass of Penfold's. Like... right now."

Koah's eyes flicked over to the clattering trolley compartments, lips pressed together. Alexej held back a smile. Sweet how rookies always hovered between caution and caving. Not that it was a grey area—rules were clear on this one.

"Service is paused while turbulence is ongoing," Alexej said, turning back to the tablet. "We'll serve him once it settles."

"That's what Kirra said too, but..."

Alexej's eyelid twitched. Koah avoided his eyes, but the slump in his shoulders said it all.

...He's not listening to her.

Alexej let out a soft sigh and pulled up the passenger manifest on the tablet. "Seat number?"

"2A."

One glance was enough. Koah's hesitation made perfect sense. Guy Coleman. COO of NovaCore Vanadium. Not the first time Alexej had seen him on a Winga flight. One of Western Australia's wealthiest mining executives, frequent flyer, Qantas Gold. Not exactly the kind of passenger a newbie wanted to rub the wrong way—especially if they valued their job.

"I'll take care of it." Alexej tucked the tablet under one arm and gave Koah a reassuring nod. "You check on our nervous flyers, then take a seat on the jumpseat."

"Okay, um... are you sure you don't need backup? He sounded pretty worked up."

Koah's voice dropped, barely audible now. He swallowed, uncertainty flickering in his warm brown eyes. Understandable. No one enjoyed telling off a guest who could probably buy the entire aircraft with his share portfolio.

But some rules were made to bend.

"No stress," Alexej said with a grin, straightening his desert-red tie. "I'm the troublemaker around here."