Page 66 of These Tears

His hand moves and finds mine where it lies frozen against my thigh, fingers closing around it gently. Almost tenderly.

I can’t speak.

He casts a solemn glance at the mother and child in the row ahead, then returns to me.

‘Always trying to save someone,’ he whispers softly.

His thumb stills over my knuckles.

The smile fades by degrees, leaving only the calm behind as he guides me back to my seat.

Then his eyes close again as if the matter has been settled.

But now I know he’s not asleep.

And it hollows me out.

He knew I would try.

He let me.

Because he knew exactly what I would see out there. Exactly what my choice would be.

And he knew…

He knew I would come back.

13

A low roar of too many languages at once hits first. The ceiling climbs in pale timber and steel ribs, daylight bleaching everything beyond the glass.

I’m in a foreign country, whose language I don’t speak, with the devil walking by my side.

I start mapping ways to escape him. I only need a moment – enough to get out of the airport and into town.

Elias’ hand closes around my elbow, steering me into the current of bodies. His mouth is at my ear, voice almost lost in the chorus of rolling wheels and announcements.

‘Left,’ he murmurs, and my body shudders at the sensation. I roll my shoulder to rid myself of it, the cabin bag rattling against the floor in protest. ‘Keep pace. Eyes down. Mouth shut. Don’t draw attention.’

He angles us between a family in padded snowsuits while the mother is zipping up one of the toddlers.

A spark flares in my mind. ‘It’s cold. I’d like to change into something warmer,’ I say, slowing down – just half a beat, testing whether the crowd might swallow me if I slid sideways.

‘If anyone asks, you’re tired,’ he continues, dismissing what I’d said. ‘You’re shy, you’re mine. No scenes. No running,’ he breathes, steering me past the glare of duty-free perfume bottles and the smell of coffee.

‘I need to visit the lavatory before we leave the airport,’ I insist, keeping my tone even.

‘You’ve already been. We’re not going off course.’

My stride falters.

His doesn’t.

Both hands settle on my shoulders, thumbs bracketing the base of my neck as he guides me onwards.

‘We’re boarding another plane,’ he adds, like it’s nothing.

A cold shiver webs up my spine. My feet keep moving, but they don’t feel like mine. Every nerve snaps to attention, measuring distance, risk, chance.