Sage feels my concern just as the attendant reaches me.
"Can I help you?" She's trying to be polite, but it's obvious she'd rather kick me off the plane. I look up at her, still in shock, and hold out the card.
"He's starving," I say, my American accent slipping a moment. "Whatever you have with meat in it."
She frowns, about to argue.
"I know we're supposed to wait for the cart," I say. "But please. If you could?"
She sighs heavily, but nods and walks away. Sage leans in to me, scowling as I lower my head and breathe slowly through my mouth to calm myself.
"What?" His tension mirrors mine.
"We're not alone." I know if I look back up the aisle, through the partially open curtain, I'll see Jean Marc again. And likely Kristophe. And those two don't travel alone. Which means...
Andre
