Chapter 1
The Weight of a Breath.
The hum of the Boeing 747 was the only lullaby Michael Sterling ever needed. At thirty thousand feet, the world felt manageable. There were no cousins who stole wives, no boardrooms to command, and no memories that could catch up to him at six hundred miles per hour.
He stared out the window into the darkness until a soft voice broke his trance.
"Excuse me, is anyone sitting here?"
Michael turned. The woman was dressed in a simple charcoal sweater. She looked tired, but her smile was polite—the kind of smile that didn't quite reach her eyes because they were heavy with something else.
"It’s empty," Michael said, his voice raspy from disuse.
She sat down, nodded a quiet "thank you," and settled in. For the first hour, they were strangers. But when the cabin lights dimmed and the flight settled into a rhythmic vibration, her head began to loll. Eventually, with a soft sigh, she leaned over.
Her head landed squarely on Michael’s shoulder.
He froze. For ten years, he hadn't let anyone close enough to touch him, let alone rely on him for support. He should have moved. He should have cleared his throat. But the scent of vanilla and something like rain drifted from her hair.
He felt a sharp, sudden ache in his chest—a dormant machine sparking back to life. He didn't move. He let her sleep, anchored by her weight, realizing for the first time in a decade that he was tired of being alone.
