Mile High

Will’s heart was racing. He hated flying. He knew the physics behind it, but it always gave him a queer feeling to look up and see a massive, mechanical cylinder rising through the air as if it weighed nothing at all. He glanced over at the man next to him, and Hannibal was gazing back, mere inches away.

The plane dropped.

Will gasped, grabbing onto the armrest, but the machine righted itself in a heartbeat, and the flight attendant’s voice came crackling over the speakers with calm words of assurance.

Hannibal wore a wry smile. “Turbulence,” he murmured, and Will glanced sideways at him. “Perfectly normal.”