Chapter Five: The Flight "One ticket to Florida, please," I said to the first flight attendant I saw. The airport felt way too big. Planes the size of buildings. People everywhere. Lights buzzing. Announcements echoing. I probably looked like a scared kid, clutching a hoodie too full of stolen things. I picked Florida because it was quiet. Out of the way. And sunny. Monsters didn’t seem like the sunscreen type. The flight attendant raised an eyebrow. "Um… do you have money, darling?" I flinched at the word darling. I hated it. Like I was a toddler or something. "Yeah. How much is it?" "$175 to Orlando." I dug through my hoodie pocket, fingers brushing past old receipts, gum wrappers, and all my secret money. $1,000. Saved up over years. Stolen from the most hidden spot at the Academy. I counted fast. "Here. $175." She took it, gave me a weird look, then handed over the ticket. I said thanks and sat down near the gate, trying not to freak out. My knee wouldn’t stop bouncing. My brain wouldn’t stop yelling. This is insane. You’re actually doing this. You’re flying to Florida with a murder-dagger and a bag of stolen cash. Then came the worst part: security. I got in line like everyone else, trying to act normal. Totally normal. Just a regular kid with a hoodie and a mysterious star-dagger hidden in her bag. Nothing to see here. "Take off your shoes, jacket, and empty your pockets, please." I did. Slowly. Heart hammering. I placed my hoodie on the conveyor belt. The dagger was hidden deep in the inner lining — I'd wrapped it in an old shirt, stuck between snack wrappers and broken pens. I prayed no one would notice. I walked through the scanner. Beep. Nothing. The TSA agent glanced at my hoodie in the tray. Paused. Then moved on. "You're good." I let out the breath I'd been holding for way too long. Grabbed my stuff. Moved fast. Somehow, I was through. Finally, they started boarding economy. That’s when the next problem showed up. "I don’t think you’re old enough, sweetheart," the gate agent said. “You don’t even have a passport.” "Oh. You’re right! Let me just… grab my parents." I spun around, spotted a family of six, and slid into their group like I’d always belonged there. My heart was slamming against my ribs as we moved forward. “Hi, are you on the flight to Florida?” the agent asked. “Yes, we have one… two… three… six tickets,” the dad said. “Okay, scan them here.” One beep. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. The scanner blinked green. “Thanks! Enjoy your flight!” I couldn’t believe it. I walked with them down the skinny tunnel to the plane. The air smelled like gum and burnt plastic. When we stepped into the cabin, I slipped away and found my real seat — 22A. Window. Cramped. Mine. The overhead speaker crackled. “Thank you for flying with us. We’ll be taking off shortly. Please fasten your seatbelts and place all bags at your feet.” I sank into the seat and clicked the belt. So close to the sky. So close to freedom. The engines roared. The plane started to move. I pressed my forehead to the window and tried to breathe. Then we lifted off. And that’s when I felt it. A chill. Like someone had just opened a door that should’ve stayed locked. Something was wrong.
