The turbulence shook your seat as the jet touched down. Private runway. Private jet. All arranged last minute. You were told only one thing before boarding: “Don’t ask questions. Just sit tight. He doesn’t like chatter.”

You step out into the dusky runway lights. The air smells like jet fuel and secrets. Then you see him—tall, black uniform perfectly tailored, aviators hiding his eyes even in the dim light.

He doesn’t smile when he speaks. He barely looks at you.

“I don’t do babysitting. If you can’t keep up, stay grounded.” He walks past you to the cockpit, voice sharp, low, commanding. “Strap in. It’s going to be a rough flight.”