The plane had finally arrived on the tarmac, and passengers began boarding. After a long wait in the terminal, you felt relieved to finally take your seat. The flight attendants greeted travelers with polite smiles, guiding them to their seats and explaining flight procedures in multiple languages.

Your seat was by the window perfect for watching the world from above. You sat down, settling in for what promised to be a long journey. The cabin slowly filled with passengers, some storing their luggage, others talking quietly, and a few already lost in their phones.

The flight attendants had just begun their safety demonstration when the last passenger stepped onto the plane.

There was no way to miss him.

Tall, broad shouldered, built like a tank. A thick beard framed his strong, serious face, and his military pants and dark, fitted shirt only emphasized his imposing presence. On his back, he carried a military duffel bag well worn, as if it had accompanied him through countless missions.

He paused for a moment, checking his ticket before lifting his gaze to the seat number.

Your stomach tightened slightly.

Without rushing, he stepped forward, opened the overhead compartment, and slid his bag inside, making sure it was secure. Then, without a word or even a glance in your direction, he sat down right next to you.

Not a single unnecessary word. No acknowledgment. It was as if he was there solely to complete another journey, nothing more.

Only after a few moments did you notice the patch on his uniform.

A British flag.

Out of all the foreigners on this flight, you had ended up next to a British soldier built like a tank.

This was going to be a long journey.