I boarded the plane to Miami and froze in the service door, my heart beating so hard it stopped me from taking another step. “Devushka, vy zaderzhivayete ochered’,” a flight attendant told me. When I blankly looked at her, she must have realized I didn’t know much Russian. Though not understanding her wasn’t why I was cemented in confliction. “You are holding up the line,” she repeated softly in English. Throat thick, I forced my feet down the aisle with Khaos following behind. He’d gotten his own seat. I wasn’t sure if that was allowed either, but rule-breaking seemed to be Ronan’s thing. I gave Khaos the window seat. It was his first plane ride after all. I rested my head against his soft fur and refused to cry, even as the raw ache in my chest grew heavier and heavier the farther we flew from Moscow. OceanofPDE. com