Chapter 43: Fasten Seatbelts And Feelings

The next evening, Cyrus pulled into a private terminal, the Mercedes purring to a stop beside a sleek building far removed from the main airport’s chaos.

Kane peered through the window, confusion evident in his expression.

"Where are the crowds? The crying babies? The existential dread of economy class?" he asked, clutching his carry-on.

"This is a private terminal," Cyrus replied, handing his keys to a waiting attendant.

Kane followed Cyrus into the building, eyes widening in amazement as they bypassed every inconvenience he’d mentally prepared for.

No lines snaked before them, no harried travelers jostled for position, and no overpriced coffee shops tempted the weary.

Instead, an elegant concierge greeted Cyrus by name. "Good evening, Mr. Drakhal and Mr. Ashwood, please follow me."

Private security appeared—two discreet professionals who scanned their bags and conducted checks with such smooth professionalism that Kane barely registered the process.

"Is this how you always travel?" Kane asked, watching as attendants materialized to handle their luggage.

"Did you expect anything less?" Cyrus replied, not bothering to look up from his phone.

Inside, the terminal itself was all sleek leather seating and polished wood, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the runway where their jet waited, gleaming under the airport lights.

"I’ve spent hours in security lines," Kane muttered. "Hours of my life I’ll never get back."

A uniformed attendant approached with a tray of champagne flutes.

"Mr. Drakhal, Mr. Ashwood, your aircraft is ready whenever you are."

Kane accepted a glass, savoring the cool bubbles while watching Cyrus decline with a subtle gesture.

"Your passport, sir?" The attendant extended her hand to Kane.

He fumbled for it, expecting some bureaucratic hurdle, but she merely glanced at it before nodding respectfully.

"This way, gentlemen."

They walked across the tarmac toward the waiting jet, the night air cool against Kane’s face.

The sleek white jet gleamed under the runway lights, its contours cutting a sharp silhouette against the night sky.

Kane froze at the base of the stairs, momentarily stunned by the aircraft’s elegant lines and the discreet Veyr Corp logo emblazoned on the tail. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ

Inside, the cabin stretched before Kane in a display of luxury that made his jaw slacken.

The buttery leather seats were wider than his home sofa. The tables were made of polished wood, and the warm cabin lighting illuminates the crystal decanters.

"Mr. Drakhal, welcome aboard." A flight attendant with perfect posture greeted them.

"Your preferred Yamazaki is chilled, and I’ve prepared the cabin temperature to sixty-eight degrees as you prefer."

Kane stumbled into a seat, accidentally dropping his phone.

"Would you care for anything, Mr. Ashwood?" she asked.

"I—uh—whatever’s fine," Kane mumbled, then quickly added, "please," as if good manners might compensate for his obvious displacement.

Kane’s fingers immediately found the control panel embedded in his armrest. He pressed the first button, jumping when his seat began to vibrate.

"What does this one do?" he asked, pressing another before Cyrus could answer. The overhead light flashed on, then off, and on again as Kane jabbed repeatedly.

"Are you five years old?" Cyrus asked, settling into his seat with practiced ease.

Kane ignored him, discovering a button that transformed his seat into a fully flat bed.

The sudden recline launched him backward with such force that his legs flew up, nearly kicking the ceiling.

"Where do they keep the peanuts on this thing?" Kane called out, voice muffled as he struggled to right himself.

"And those little pretzels? Do private jets have those tiny liquor bottles?"

Cyrus pinched the bridge of his nose. "We have a full gourmet menu."

"But I want the authentic experience," Kane insisted, finally managing to sit upright again.

He discovered another button that activated a massage function, his eyes widening in delight.

Cyrus turned away, ostensibly checking his phone, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

There was something refreshing about Kane’s unfiltered enthusiasm—though he’d never admit it aloud.

After centuries of indifference, witnessing such genuine wonder was... unexpectedly pleasant.

Kane fumbled with his phone, angling it to capture both his grinning face and the opulent cabin behind him.

He stuck out his tongue, flashed a peace sign, and snapped several shots before finding the perfect one.

"What are you doing?" Cyrus asked, not bothering to hide his disdain.

"Just sending my dear friend Ginsei a little update." Kane’s thumbs flew across the screen, adding a caption:

Flying private to Greece. No security lines. No crying babies. Just champagne and caviar. #AssistantLife #SorryNotSorry

The flight attendant approached with a silver tray. "Chilled towel, gentlemen? And perhaps some canapés before takeoff?"

Kane grabbed both, draping the cool towel around his neck like a miniature scarf while stuffing a salmon-topped cracker into his mouth.

"Mr. Ashwood," the attendant said with patience, "I’ll need you to secure your seatbelt for takeoff."

Kane looked down at the unfastened belt, then back up with crumbs still clinging to his lips.

"Right, safety first."

The engines roared to life, pressing Kane back into his seat as the jet accelerated down the runway.

Once they reached cruising altitude, the seatbelt sign dimmed, and Kane immediately unbuckled, stretching his limbs like a cat waking from a nap.

"Quick question," Kane said, swirling the remnants of his champagne.

"Why exactly do you need a private jet when you’ve got those impressive wings? Seems redundant."

Cyrus looked up from his tablet, one eyebrow raised.

"Why do you take a car when you have perfectly functional legs?"

"Fair point," Kane conceded. "Though I bet you’d look majestic soaring over the Atlantic."

"And attract every human’s attention along the way," Cyrus replied dryly. "Besides, I wouldn’t want to carry you the entire time."

Kane grinned. "Are you saying I’m heavy?"

Cyrus didn’t dignify that with a response, returning to his work.

Kane leaned back with a sigh, the plush seat molding to his frame. For once, his thoughts didn’t race.

Just the hum of the engines, the taste of champagne on his tongue, and the faint pulse of the karmic bond as he drifted into sleep.

Cyrus glanced up, watching the fox spirit’s face relax in slumber.

Kane’s usual mask of sarcasm and bravado melted away, replaced by something almost innocent.

"No... don’t..." Kane mumbled, his brow furrowing. "Mom... wait..."

Cyrus stilled, his enhanced hearing catching every word.

"Don’t leave me there... please..." Kane’s fingers twitched, grasping at nothing. "I’ll be good... I promise..."