She didn’t look up.

  The person smelled like peppermint and laundry detergent. Their elbow brushed hers once, gently, as they buckled in. but kiro barely noticed she was busy staring out the window trying not to grin at her success in running away. The attendant finished her demonstration as the plane started down the runway. The outside world started blurring, then they were flying.

  Kiro’s stomach dropped as if she were on a roller coaster. It was amazing. Her fingers gripped the armrest as her heart rate increased. She didn’t speak. Didn’t want to breathe too loud for fear this giant melt thing would drop from the sky at the slightest sift. Then there was a soft ping and a man got up holding a baby and walked quickly to the back where the bathroom was located, she figured if they could move so could she.

  Kiro shifted slowly, her legs unfolding with a quiet ache. Pins and needles surged through her calves and feet as blood returned to places that had gone numb. She winced, trying to stretch without drawing attention, but her elbow nudged the boy beside her.

  He didn’t stir.

  She glanced sideways, curious. He was slumped against the seat, hoodie pulled up just enough to shadow his face, one arm draped loosely across his lap. His jeans were worn at the knees, and his sneakers looked like they’d seen a few too many miles. No backpack that she could see.

  His hair was a mess of black, tousled like he’d run a hand through it a hundred times and then given up. His skin was pale, almost translucent in the dim cabin light, and his jawline was sharp in a way that came about from not eating enough.

  She tucked her legs up against her chest, careful not to touch him again. Her body was sore, her mind buzzing with the weight of what she’d done, where she was going, and how none of it could be undone.

  The cabin lights had dimmed to a soft glow, casting long shadows across the rows of sleeping passengers. Kiro curled into herself, arms wrapped tight around her knees, her forehead pressed to the cold window. The chill had crept in slowly, but now it was relentless—her body shivering so hard her teeth began to chatter. She tried to stay still, tried not to draw attention, but her limbs betrayed her, twitching and jerking trying to gather warmth.

  Beside her, the boy stirred.

  His head turned, hoodie slipping back just enough to reveal a pair of startlingly clear blue eyes—so bright they looked almost unreal in the low light. He blinked once, twice, then squinted at her.

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  “You cold, bro?” he asked, voice low and groggy.

  Kiro hesitated, then nodded. She remembered how she looked—small, probably pitiful. Without a word, he reached beneath his seat and pulled out a thin black blanket, still folded in ribbon looking straight from the store. He tore it open and tossed it gently over her lap, the corner brushing her arm. It smelled new and it was warm.

  She murmured a quiet “thanks,” barely audible.

  He gave a lazy shrug, already drifting back toward sleep, his head tilting against the seat. But before he closed his eyes, he glanced at her again—just briefly—and something in his expression softened. Pity maybe, she didn’t have the energy to care as sleep started reaching for her as well. Kiro pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, letting the warmth seep in.

  The cabin was dark, humming with the low lull of engines and the occasional rustle of restless passengers. Kiro slept. Deep and heavy and better than she had in years.

  When she woke her body was stiff, curled into the small seat, the thin blanket holding off the chill best it could. She checked the old watch strapped to her wrist, 3 hours had passed. Now that she was awake her thoughts inevitably turned to The Plan.

  The Plan was the whole reason Kiro was there, her 2 part masterpiece.

  Part 1: Runaway.

  Part 2: Ruin Michael Lander’s life.

  Michael Lander. The name made her mad just thinking about it. He was an awful person, he hurt other people without care, cheated and lied to get his way. He was also her biological father.

  The plan had developed deep in her soul, in her need to make him pay for what he had done to her, to her mother, for every night he had hit them in a drunken rage, for every time he had dressed them up like dolls to be shown off to his friends, for every dollar he had made ripping off people that hadn’t know they were dealing with the devil.

  She would make him sorry. Though Kiro had been thinking over the plan for a few years she hadn’t committed until English three days ago when the teacher had gone on and on for an hour about what an amazing man Michael Lander was, “He’s such a business man… And he can write, I recommend you all read his book… What a leader…” it had made Kiro sick to listen to and that's when she knew she was going to set fire to his perfect new world.

  Suddenly the boy beside her shifts knocking her back to the present. He is still asleep but a small jerking of the plane causes him to slump against her. His weight fell against her, pressing her into the cold wall of the plane. His shoulder heavy against hers, head tilted toward her, hoodie bunched at the neck. His body mass easily tripled hers, and the pressure was constant—uncomfortable, but not unbearable. She tried to nudge him gently, elbowing his side, whispering a soft “hey.”

  Nothing.

  He didn’t stir.

  His breath was slow and steady, his face relaxed in sleep. Up close, he looked even younger than she’d thought—maybe eighteen, maybe less.

  Kiro shifted again, trying to reclaim a sliver of space between her and the wall, but it was no use. He was out cold, and she was pinned. She could feel the vibration of his breath through his hoodie, the quiet rhythm of someone deeply asleep.