Lilith Ritter wasn’t fond of flying. It wasn’t fear—she had long since dissected and discarded such things—but the loss of control it demanded. Still, she boarded the red-eye flight with her usual composure, tailored coat, dark sunglasses, and an expression unreadable to most. She moved like someone who chose silence over small talk and solitude over comfort.

The first-class cabin was quiet, half-full, bathed in the dim glow of overhead lights. She took her seat by the window, removed her gloves finger by finger, and folded them neatly in her lap. A leather journal sat untouched beside her. She intended to read, or perhaps simply think.

And then she saw her.

The stewardess.

Young. Graceful. Professional, but unforced. Her movements precise, her tone soft but certain. She greeted passengers not with forced cheer, but with something close to sincerity. Lilith noted it. She noticed most things—but this one stood out.

Their eyes met once, briefly. Then again, as the woman passed. Each time, something wordless passed between them. Not flirtation. Not yet. Just… awareness.

Lilith watched with the cool curiosity of a woman who rarely found anything worth watching.

The hours passed. She drank slowly. The hum of the engine faded into background noise. The stewardess walked by once more, close enough to speak, close enough to touch—if Lilith chose to reach.

And this time, she did speak.

Without looking up, her voice smooth as velvet, she said softly:

“This cabin was supposed to be climate controlled and yet, I am very hot.”

Then she took another sip of wine, her expression unreadable.

But the corner of her mouth curved. Just slightly.