They followed a sidewalk alongside the building, before it opened into a massive paved area where a few smaller planes parked alongside private terminals. Seth didn't really know his planes, but these ones looked like immaculate millionaire style jets, the kind that crime lords liked to use to hop across the ocean to check out their drug operation in Uganda.

"We are so going to jail," he muttered.

"Nonsense," Mrs. Beakor told him. "I just pulled some connections, that's all."

"You bribed that security guy!"

She chuckled. "Nothing of the sort, kiddo. That's just a tip to thank him for his exemplary service."

"You gave him cash. That's a bribe. And it's illegal! We didn't even go through security!"

"Oh look, there's our man." Mrs. Beakor hurried forward, raising a thin arm to wave. "Hm, I don't think he sees us. He's a bit shortsighted, but that's all right. Come, kiddo." She took his arm and hustled him along.

Seth couldn't help but look back, half expecting to see a group of security guys come running after them. But the only sign of life came from a solitary seagull hopping along the ground.

"Hel, lass, is that you?"

Seth turned to find an ancient creature hobbling towards them. At one point, it had been a little old man. Now it was something closer to mummified remains. Its skin was dark and leathery, stretched over a skeletal frame that looked like it might collapse at any given moment. Milky eyes peered through glass lenses so thick, that they were magnified to cartoonish sizes. The flannel shirt and trousers drowned the poor creature, and it seemed to have trouble moving beneath all the material, for it teetered dangerously forward as it stretched out a withered arm toward them.

"Jeb, it's been a while." Mrs. Beakor bent down and scooped the little figure up in a giant bear hug. It patted weakly at her back. Seth wasn't sure if he was watching the dying struggles of a crushed twig or if it was a fragile attempt to return affection.

"Too long," rasped the creature. "Been far too long."

Like a few centuries? Seth thought. He stood a safe distance behind Mrs. Beakor, and wondered if this old man was her father. Or maybe her grandfather.

Mrs. Beakor released Jeb. She wore an oddly gentle smile. "I'm glad to see you're doing well, Jeb. And thanks for this. I know it was short notice."

"Eh." The old guy lifted a shaky hand then dropped it, as if he were swatting a fly. "I weren't doing nothing anyway. Where's the kid? I don't see 'im."

"He's right in front of you," Mrs. Beakor said. "Seth, this is Jeb, an old friend of mine. He'll be our pilot for today."

At first, Seth just nodded automatically, still trying to process the idea that something this old could still be alive. The little old man made Mrs. Beakor look like a young woman in comparison! Then what she had said sunk in, and his eyes grow round.

"Pilot?!" He choked on his own spit.

They couldn't be serious. This guy looked so feeble that even standing up on his own two feet was a feat of superhuman strength. How could he even have the strength to pull back the yoke? Or even flip a switch without breaking a finger? What if he had a heart attack and died during take-off?

Seth felt ill. This was a terrible idea.

"I still don' see 'im." The ginormous eyes squinted behind their lens. Old Jeb peered directly at Seth's direction, and though Seth stood practically ten feet away, Jeb failed to see anything. He carefully turned his head towards Mrs. Beakor, moving so slowly that Seth half expected to hear the bones creak like a squeaky hinge. "You sure he's there?"

"Yes, I'm sure." Mrs. Beakor gave Seth a wink. "Now come on Jeb, we have a schedule to keep."

"Well, if you say so."

With a teetering shuffle, Jeb went to one of the nearby planes. This one had twin engines and enough space for 6 adults to cram in like sardines. As Mrs. Beakor practically lifted Jeb up the stairs one step at a time, Seth peered back at the distant security door and wondered if it was too late to flee. At least a jail cell had no risks of falling out of the sky.

"Come on, kiddo."

Alas, Mrs. Beakor beckoned. She stood in the open door of the plane, extending a hand towards him as if he were another old man that needed the assistance of elderly lady. Seth sighed, and carefully clambered up the steps.

While he settled in one of the middle seats and carefully fastened the lap belt, Mrs. Beakor closed and locked the door with practiced ease, like she'd done so a hundred times before. Then she squeezed her way into the cockpit and settled beside Jeb.

"Here, pass me the checklist. I'll read it, you check."

"Thank you, Hel."

Seth watched as Jeb passed over a laminated sheet to Mrs. Beakor. The pilot's hands were so shaky that Mrs. Beakor actually missed grabbing it on the first try.

"All right. First thing on the list is the auxiliary fuel pump."

It took nearly ten seconds for Jeb to answer. "Off."

"Controls?"

Another few long seconds. "They're correct."

"Radios?"

"Eh?"

"Radios, dear."

"Right, thank you, Hel. Yes, they're here."

"Are they on, Jeb? Never mind that, I see the lights. Put your headset on."

"Eh? Can you speak louder, Hel?"

"Your headset, Jeb. Put it on. Here, kiddo—you put one on, too. How's the instruments look there? Hmm, let's see. Yes. They all look good to me."

"Instruments are there, too."

"Right. Thank you, Jeb. Trim?"

"Oh, you noticed? I had one last week. New barber."

"It looks lovely, dear. And there we go—the trim is adjusting properly. Let's see, what's next?"

The next few minutes felt unbearably long. While Mrs. Beakor read off every item on the checklist, she was the one who ended up doing the majority of the pre-flight checks. It left Seth wondering who actually was going to fly the plane in the end.

Yet when the plane rumbled to life and she received confirmation from the tower, it was Jeb who curled both hands around the controls. And it was Jeb who slowly guided the plane down the short taxiway and onto the runway. Inch by painful inch, where Jeb leaned forward and squinted, his eyes a couple inches from the instrument panel. He didn't even look out the windshield, because he was too short for his head to even rise above it.

Seth grabbed the armrests of his seat, mouth going drier than dust. He regretted everything in life right now. This would be the last time he trusted Mrs. Beakor to plan anything. As the engines roared and the plane began to speed down the runway, Seth squeezed his eyes shut.

If he survived this, he was never going to get in an airplane ever again.

***

One hour into the flight, Seth finally relaxed his fingers from their death grip on his seat. The plane flew steadily through a cloudless blue sky, failing to show any inclination of dive bombing into the ground.

When he looked into the cockpit, he saw Mrs. Beakor doing a Sudoku puzzle, and next to her, Jeb had his head sprawled back at a strange angle. His mouth was slack and his milky eyes gazed blankly at the roof of the plane. For a second, Seth got the horrible impression that the old guy was dead. Then he saw a little rivulet of drool slide down Jeb's face and heaved an internal sigh of relief.

He wasn't sure who was flying the plane at this point, but as long as it was flying straight, he could pretend that everything was okay. That meant he could spend some time worrying about other things, like how his phone had been buzzing in his pocket for the past twenty minutes.

Seth dug it out and checked the screen. Two missed calls and four text messages, all from a number he didn't recognize. The area code was strange, too.

He pondered it for a bit, idly scratching at his right hand, before giving a slight shrug. He opened his messages and started reading.

Hello. This is Jack. Confirm that you have received.

Seth blinked. That guy really did text him, huh? He scrolled down to the next message.

Judging by the area code, you are in a region that is currently in its daylight hours. You should be awake. Please confirm that you have received this.

A slow smile began to spread across Seth's face. If there was ever any doubt that this was none other than Jack Coyote, it was gone now. The next text was even better:

This is not a scam, Sev.

Seth snickered. He couldn't help it. To see Jack dropping his usual stiff personality to show proof that he wasn't some scary stranger randomly messaging him was really unexpected. In addition, he couldn't remember if Jack had ever addressed him by that nickname, either.

This sort of reassurance felt so forced it was hilarious.

The two missed phone calls came after that, as Jack had clearly been dissatisfied with a lack of response. The last text was the most recent one, being a full 14 minutes after the second failed phone call.

Is everything all right?

Awww. Seth's grin grew wider. He actually cares! He'd have to make sure to accuse Jack of it the next time they met in Eliona. That would really ruin the tank's reputation of being a mean block of ice.

He bent over his phone to text a reply.

Hi Jack. Sorry, I'm on a plane. Everything is fine.

Seth paused after he hit send, contemplating his choice of words. Everything is fine. That felt like almost like a lie. He touched the sunglasses which he'd pushed up into his hair. And then he thought about the reason for this whole plane ride. His amusement faded.

If had to choose between being on this plane and getting barbecued by the snarky robot in Eliona, he'd have picked the latter. At least the pain would be brief in that case.

His phone vibrated. Apparently, Jack was waiting for a reply or had his own phone close by, because he took no time at all to send a reply.

Why are you on a plane?

Seth made a face.

Because I thought it would be fun.

He could almost see the icy glare being directed at him.

Are you sure everything is alright?

Seth set the phone on his lap and gazed at the screen like he'd just seen something very strange. This was not the typical Jack response. Or maybe it was, and it came across as normal without that frowning stare behind it. He scratched his hand idly, before picking up his phone.

Yes. Just taking a short visit to see family. Will be back home by dinner. A friend offered to fly me.

He added the last sentence, because he didn't want Jack to get any weird misconceptions. Seth was not a rich privileged kid or in organized crime; he just knew a crazy lady who knew some shady people, that's all. And a family visit was also normal, if one ignored the fact they were the absolute last people on earth he wanted to see again.

I see.

Like usual, Jack's reply revealed nothing. Seth wondered why he even bothered. Rolling his eyes, he typed out his next message.

Have you talked to Snow?

I have.

Seth waited, but that was it. There was no further elaboration on Jack's part, which was frustrating at best. Was the guy trying to be annoying on purpose? He had to know exactly what Seth wanted to know.

And? Seth added a frowny emoji, because he felt like Jack deserved it.

He'll be there tonight. He wants to talk to you.

"Talk to me?" Seth looked up from his phone, baffled. He wasn't so sure that was a good idea, especially after what happened last time.

Does talking involve punching?

No. He just wants the truth.

Seth stared at those words. There was a distinct flutter in his chest, like a moth startled from its dark corner.

He knows, Jack sent.

Knows what? Seth's stomach dropped as the world lurched around him. No, wait. That was the actual plane, dropping into an air pocket. His attention snapped to the cockpit. The old pilot still sagged in his seat like a dead octopus, and Mrs. Beakor had leaned forward to study the instrument panel with an intensity that deeply worried Seth.

Was something wrong? Was the plane about to fall out of the sky?

No, forget that—what did Snow know?

His phone buzzed, and a long text came through. As Seth read it, he relaxed some at first, but very quickly, the ugly knot of unease only grew.

That Eliona is abnormal. Something happened to him, and it scares him. He wouldn't say what, but I suspect he wishes to discuss it with you.

Why me?

That didn't make much sense. Snow and Jack apparently knew each other for years, so why would Snow choose an internet almost-stranger over a good friend?

I don't know.

Great, thanks. Should I tell him Eliona is real while we're having this chat?

Seth mentioned it sarcastically, more of a joke than anything else. But Jack didn't take it that way, because his response was dead serious.

No. Better let him come to that conclusion on his own.

Seth rolled his eyes. What do you think happened to him?

I don't know.

Great, that was astoundingly helpful. Seth grimaced as his hand gave a sudden, fierce itch. He set his phone on his lap so he could give it a good scratch, but it didn't really relieve the prickling sensation. When he took a close look at it, he could see that the back of his hand was a bit red, but that could easily have been from him scratching it.

"Weird," he muttered. Must be the dry air or something.

The plane jolted again, and Seth instinctively grabbed at the armrests to brace himself. His phone slipped from his lap and hit the floor, where a sudden sideways tilt sent it sliding beneath the seat. He gasped, eyes darting up front.

Jeb had shifted with the turbulence, so now he hung over the side of his chair, his head practically in Mrs. Beakor's lap. From Seth's perspective, he could only see bald patches peeking past thinning white hair on the back of Jeb's shriveled head.

Mrs. Beakor casually flicked a switch on the dashboard, before glancing back. When she caught Seth's pale face gawking at her, she grinned, and flashed a thumbs up. Then she lifted her Sudoku book and continued on doing her puzzle as if absolutely nothing was wrong.

Needless to say, Seth didn't let go of his chair for the rest of the flight.