A guy two rows back laughed so hard he coughed on his drink.
As Tanya hovered, a woman in a sleek red dress, her hair pulled into a tight chignon, leaned over from the next row.
She was the kind of person who always had a glass of champagne in hand, her smile practiced and cruel.
“Sweetie, this isn’t a thrift store,” she said, her voice loud enough to draw more eyes. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
The cabin’s laughter grew sharper, phones tilting to catch Lysandra’s reaction.
Lysandra’s fingers paused on her backpack zipper, her eyes lifting to meet the woman’s. “Am I?”
she asked, her voice so soft it barely carried. The woman blinked, thrown, her champagne glass trembling slightly.
Lysandra turned back to her bag, zipping it closed with a slow, deliberate pull, the sound cutting through the cabin’s noise like a warning.
