The jet door opened to a rush of warm tropical air. It smelled like salt, flowers, and a kind of freedom I had never known before. For a brief second, my chest expanded easily, like I could breathe deeper here, away from the frozen steel of the pack’s expectations and the weight of everything waiting back home.
Then I saw them.
Even here, even on a secluded runway only meant for private flights, cameras were waiting.
Not as many as the city airport, not a screaming crowd, but still enough lenses to make my pulse jump. A line of paparazzi behind a fence barrier. Long camera lenses pointed at us like hungry wolves watching prey. It was quieter, controlled, but their attention was sharp as always.
Voices lifted the moment we appeared.
“Over here.”
“Smile Cassandra.”
“Kiss for the honey
