Isla
The jet was quiet, like the kind of silence that presses on your chest and makes you aware of every breath you take. Sienna sat beside me with her knees tucked close, headphones in, head leaned back, but her thoughts were nowhere near sleep. Her fingers tapped an anxious rhythm against her thigh—something she only did when she was trying to swallow worry whole.
And Zayne…Zayne was nowhere.
Not once did I see him after boarding. Not a glimpse of his stupidly perfect face, not the swipe of a hand through his hair, not even his cologne drifting through the narrow aisle. Nothing. I checked—subtly. Once. Twice. Five times. He wasn’t in the lounge area, or in the private sleeping booth, or in the small dining section. Which meant one of two things:
He either didn’t board with us…Or he b
