I sat down in the leather seat and pulled the left half of the seatbelt across my lap.

The heavy metal tongue clicked into the buckle with a sharp, familiar snap.

Outside the double-pane window, the tarmac at Gate C27 spread out beneath a dull gray evening sky.

Fuel trucks were slowly pulling away from the wingtip, their yellow safety lights flashing in rhythm on the wet concrete.

Two baggage handlers in orange reflective vests heaved the last heavy trunk into the cargo hold and slammed the hatch.

A soft thud carried up through the floor under my boots.