Front of the cabin. Window. Left side. Enough space to edit speeches, enough quiet to think. She had chosen it for the same reason she chose her words — carefully.
She sat down and noticed a scratch on the armrest. Same one from two months ago. Same route. Same airline.
A familiar kind of comfort.
She placed her tablet on the tray. The screen blinked on. The first slide of her keynote loaded:
“Words Should Never Be Weaponized.”
She exhaled.
Then reached down, adjusted the strap of her leather bag, and zipped it closed with precision. Every movement measured. Like a quiet preflight checklist.
The hum of first class was routine: boarding announcements, the faint chime of the galley, a soft sigh from an overtired businessman in 1C.
Then came the interruption.
