Lysandra had walked up the jetway, her boarding pass in hand, and stepped into the first-class cabin.
The seats were wide leather, the kind that screamed money.
A guy in a tailored blazer, mid-40s, with a smug grin and too much cologne, looked her up and down and snorted: “Lost your way to economy, hun?”
he said, loud enough for the whole cabin to hear.
A woman across the aisle, dripping in gold jewelry and fake charm, chimed in: “Oh, let her stay.
It’s like a charity case field trip.” The cabin rippled with chuckles. Lysandra didn’t flinch.
She slid her backpack under the seat and sat down, her movements deliberate, like she was placing each piece of herself exactly where it belonged.
Then came Tanya Red, the head flight attendant.
She was all sharp cheekbones and glossy lipstick, her uniform pressed to perfection.
She stopped at Lysandra’s seat, one hand on her hip, and tilted her head like she was inspecting a stain.
