The jet ride was eerily silent for the first hour. Nothing but the sounds of the sleek aircraft's twin engines and Graves' incessant chattering from the cockpit filled the ears of the trio sitting in the passenger bay. They took up seats throughout the jet, occupying separate rows. Thea sat at the front with her legs stretched across two seats. Her messy, onyx hair draped over both her shoulders like a blanket.

Malik sat in one of the middle rows—away from any windows—with his head in his hands. His knuckles were still swollen. Graves offered to get him some ice, but he declined. Perhaps the pain from bashing someone's face in was how he intended to atone for his actions.

As for Henri, he sat in the back row. He stared out the window, losing himself in the thick clouds enveloping the jet. They reminded him of cotton candy. But the farther they traveled through the sky, the thicker they got. They got darker as the day neared its end. Afternoon's comforting, amber glow gave way to moody, purple hues. In the next hour, they'd be traversing through the black expanse of the night.

Sighing, Henri tucked his knees into his chest and wrapped his arms around himself. Resting his chin on his knees, he stole a glance through the headrests in front of him. Malik had finally lifted his head. His brows were furrowed deeply, and he was massaging one of his injured hands.

"You sure you don't need some ice, kid?" Graves called out from the cockpit.

"I'm good," Malik replied flatly.

"Suit yourself." Turning in his seat, their pilot lifted a brow at him. "How'd your hands get like that anyways? You lose a fight to a brick wall or somethin'?"

Malik frowned. "Something like that."

Graves huffed. "Just tryna make conversation. It's a long flight to London, ya' know. Might as well get acquainted and all that. Speakin' of..." He directed his attention to Thea, who was half asleep. "What're you three travelin' to England for?"

"It's kind of private," Thea said with a yawn. "Let's just say we're there on business."

"Business, eh?" Graves squinted at her. "What kinda business are ya' in, girly?"

Now it was Thea's turn to peer at the man speculatively. "That doesn't really concern you."

Henri got up from his seat. The back of the jet was starting to get lonely, and he was getting thirsty. These types of aircraft usually had snacks on them whenever he boarded them. Surely Graves had a bottle of water around somewhere.

"Is there any food or drinks on this thing?" he asked as he made his way toward the front of the cabin. "My throat feels like the Sahara Desert."

"Er, yeah, should be some stuff in that cabinet up there."

"Thanks."

As he shuffled toward the aforementioned cabinet on the left side of the jet, he glanced at his sister. She sent him a discreet nod, likely grateful for the subject change. He nodded back. This Graves guy might've been flying them to London, but that didn't mean he needed to know why.

He wasn't to be trusted.

No one was.

Henri retrieved a bottle of water. His nose crinkled upon seeing the label. "You don't have any sparkling?"

"Seriously, kid?" the pilot asked. "I didn't get much of a notice to stock up on fancy snacks beforehand, ya' know. 'Sides, water is water. That sparklin' stuff gets on my nerves. I mean, who wants bubbles in their water? Just drink a soda—"

"I got it," Henri interrupted. As he prepared to return to his seat, his eyes lingered on Malik's still frame. The boy was staring at his hands. His jaw flexed every couple of moments. A tidal wave of emotions and thoughts could be seen beyond his dark eyes.

He'd seen that look many times when he looked in the mirror.

Previous experiences told him if those feelings kept building, the pressure would crush him like the waves of a tsunami. Back at Westminster, they'd almost drowned him on several occasions. The constant judgment from his peers, the isolation from his family, and the pressure to uphold his family name weighed on him like an anchor. He'd been perceived to be an entitled, obnoxious American amongst snobby Brits. Not to mention his sexuality brought unwanted opinions and snide remarks, but he was used to that by now. Still, it would've been nice to just exist for once.

No one had been there to throw him a life raft. Not his parents. Not Thea. No one.

Now he was on the other side of the coin. He had the chance to help someone the way he wished he'd been helped.

As he thoughtfully nibbled on his bottom lip, he peered at the downcast Malik.

He wanted to move to him. He wanted to tell him that what happened at the airport was okay. That he did the right thing. But the image of that Arkangel goon's bloodied face wouldn't leave his mind. It was all he could see. The sound of Malik's fist connecting over and over again was the only thing he could hear.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he forced the memory out.

He did do the right thing. They would've been caught if he hadn't acted. Sure, he might've gone overboard, but adrenaline often got the best of people.

Releasing a breath, Henri carefully took a seat beside the other boy. Malik lifted his head as a skeptical expression spread across his face.

"How're you feeling?" Henri asked. "You know, you should really get some ice on your hands."

"I'm good," Malik repeated through his teeth.

Clearly, he wasn't. But if left to his devices, he'd let his hands swell up like water balloons before taking care of them. With a shake of his head, Henri ventured over to a cooler beneath the cabinet full of off-brand water bottles and scooped some ice into a paper towel. He returned to Malik and pressed it to his bloodied knuckles.

"I told you I don't need any—"

"Shut up," Henri hissed. He softened his voice. "Look, I know you're probably feeling bad about what happened back at the airport. But you did what you had to do."

Malik looked away.

"Don't be so hard on yourself."

"How can I not be? This is the exact kind of thing that ruined my life a year ago. I'm supposed to be getting better. Less violent, you know?"

Henri shifted his makeshift icepack onto Malik's other hand.

"But I'm still so angry all the time," the boy continued, his voice slightly strained. "It's like...there's a constant storm raging inside of me. I can't get it to go away."

"What are you angry at?"

"I...I don't know. The world? Society? Myself?"

Henri frowned. At that moment, he realized he'd never be able to fully relate to the boy beside him. Their lives were too different. Their struggles weren't the same, and they never would be. But that didn't mean he couldn't try to understand and help him. Even if he couldn't, lending a listening ear wouldn't hurt.

"You've got every right to be angry," he said after a few moments of silence. "I mean, you've had so much taken from you because of a mistake. Everyone makes mistakes. But not everyone is given the chance to come back from them." His brows furrowed. Because of who he was and where he came from, any mistake he made would be forgiven and swept under the rug like old crumbs. Sure, he was Black, but he was still a Beck. And that held weight. But for people like Malik who had no wealth or family name propping them up? The world couldn't wait to punish them. "It's not fair."

"It's not."

Henri removed the ice from the boy's hands. He took one of them into his own and examined it. The swelling had already gone down a bit. "See? Better."

Nodding, Malik smiled. It was like sunshine worming its way through grey clouds after a rainstorm.

"Better."

#

"Lady and gentlemen!" Graves' voice chirped through the private jet's intercom. "We are one hour outside of London Heathrow."

"Thank you for the update," a bored Thea replied. Yawning, she got out of her seat and ventured toward the cockpit. "So, how'd you become a pilot?"

Henri—still sitting beside Malik—glanced at the man flying the plane. The ride thus far had been smooth, save for a few tricky spots of turbulence every now and then. Yet, Graves didn't have the appearance of the standard flyer of luxury aircraft. He didn't wear a suit and his robust, midwestern accent suggested he was more suited to farming.

Graves took off his headset before answering Thea. "Ya' know, I didn't always start out wanting to fly metal birds in the sky. I've always been a bit of a jack of all trades, ya' see? I do a bit of this, a bit of that. Construction, engineering, smuggling, etcetera. You name it and I can probably do it." He grinned. "I make a mean grilled cheese sandwich too."

Thea nodded slowly. She glanced at her brother over her shoulder with a bemused look on her pale face. "Right, right."

"Our family's personal assistant Jeffrey said you were a friend of his," Henri said, the memory striking him like a bolt of lightning. "How exactly do you know him?"

"Oh, good ol' Jeff!" Graves nodded. "We go way back. Used to fly him and your parents around back in the day."

Henri lifted a brow. "Really? You know our parents?"

"Sure do."

If this man had flown for them in the past, he likely knew all about their escapades and adventures prior to Henri's birth and Thea's adoption. He'd heard the stories from their own mouths dozens of times, but never from an outside perspective.

"What was it like?" he asked. "You know, traveling the world in search of forgotten cities and ancient artifacts? It had to be exciting, right?"

"Heck yeah, it was! One time we nearly crashed into the Himalayas in Nepal in search of a mystical tower. Never found it, though."

A mystical tower?

Henri never heard that story before.

"I got your parents out of a couple of jams back then too," Graves added. "I'm a great flier, but I ain't too bad with a pistol either." He winked at the boy.

He wasn't sure what that meant. His parents' adventures rarely included such details. They weren't fighters or gunslingers. They'd be more likely to die in a rockslide or a rather strong river current than being gunned down. At least, that's what Henri believed.

Perhaps they'd omitted some things when recanting their tales to him when he was a kid.

If his rescue mission ended how he hoped it would, he'd have even more questions for them.

"Alright, I gotta get this headset back on," Graves grumbled. "Folks down there at the terminal will be on the channel soon. If ya' need me, ya' know where to find me." He slipped the headset back onto his ears and disengaged the jet's autopilot feature.

Thea shuffled over to Henri and Malik. "He's quite the character."

"You could say that again."

She looked at Malik. "How're you doing, Muhammad Ali?" He scowled in reply. "Jeez, tough crowd." She took a seat in the row they were in. "So, I was thinking. With us about to land and everything, we need to come up with a plan. Once my phone gets service again, I'm gonna contact Tinfoilhat99 and figure out where they want to meet."

"Sounds good," Henri said.

"That's it?" Thea squinted at him. "No micromanaging? No doubting that this person is even legit?"

"I did all of that already. This was your idea, Thea. I'm letting you take lead."

"Or you're letting me take the heat when it fails so you can pin it on me." She shook her head in disapproval. "I know your game."

He simply shrugged. "You don't sound very confident."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, whatever." Folding her arms, she glared at the floor. "I really hope they're legit. If not, I dunno what we're going to do next."

"We'll figure it out. We always do." Henri patted her on the shoulder. "We made it this far, right?"

Malik chimed in with some encouragement of his own. Thea smiled at them both.

After another thirty minutes passed, Graves notified them they'd be landing shortly. Henri had been perfectly fine a minute ago, but the closer they got to that runway in London, the faster his heart began to beat. His fingernails dug into the leather of the armrests his hands were resting on. He chewed on his bottom lip with his eyes staring out the window, watching the ground get closer and closer.

Thea's words planted seeds of doubt in his head. They'd already begun to bloom into full-on panic.

What if Tinfoilhat99 turned out to be a fraud? What if this entire trip yielded no information and they ended back at square one? Or what if this entire thing was some elaborate plan cooked up by Arkangel to capture them?

His brain was an angry wasp nest buzzing with hundreds of terrible scenarios.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The incessant chatter in his ears dulled into an echo of faint static.

This journey to London wouldn't be for nothing—no matter what happened. One way or another, they'd figure out a way to find and rescue his parents.

"Lady and gentlemen," Graves' voice crackled through the intercom, "welcome to London!"

Once Graves finished his landing sequence and parked the jet into their designated hangar, Henri and the others bid him goodbye before making the journey to London Heathrow. Before leaving, Graves said he'd be sticking around the city for a few days in case they needed a ride back home.

Henri didn't plan on riding with the man again, but who knew what would happen the next day? If things went well with their mystery person, they could've been headed to Alexandria in Egypt next.

Heathrow was just like every other airport Henri had been to—large, white, and full of people. When they touched down in London, it'd been approaching eleven at night. Yet, the terminals were bustling with people as if it were midday. Everyone had the same idea to catch a red-eye flight for the cheaper prices, it seemed.

Luckily, they didn't have any luggage to retrieve from baggage claim. After making their way through customs without any issues, the trio found themselves standing on the sidewalk outside one of the airport's main entrances in search of their next plan of action.

"You don't reckon Tinfoilhat99'll want to meet tonight, do you?" Henri asked.

Thea snorted. "It's midnight. They're probably fast asleep."

"Or not," Malik said with a shrug. "Paranoid people like your friend tend to not sleep much."

"Either way, we're not meeting them tonight." Thea pulled out her phone and started typing.

"What're we doing then?" Malik asked.

She showed him her phone. "Looking for the cheapest hotel in the area. We'll sleep there for the night and meet with our mystery person in the morning." She yawned. "I'm exhausted."

Henri rolled his eyes at her. "You just spent half the flight napping."

"And now I'm jetlagged." She smirked. "We've got a big day ahead of us tomorrow. Gotta be well rested." Before he could say anything else, she stepped toward the road ahead and joined the cluster of people trying their best to hail a taxi. She fought her way to the front, placed two fingers from each hand on either side of her mouth, and let out a high-pitched whistle.

"I've always wanted to learn how to do that," Malik mumbled.

"Oh, it's easy," Henri began. "All you've gotta do is—"

"Boys!" Grinning, Thea waved them over to a black Taxicab rolling up to the curb where she stood. "Get over here!"

"You can tell me later." Malik gave him a pat on the shoulder before jogging over to Thea.

Smiling, Henri watched his retreating figure for a few moments before trotting along behind him. Once the three of them were inside the cab, Thea gave the driver the name of a nearby hotel. Soon, they were on their way out of Heathrow Airport and into the marvelously historic capital of the United Kingdom.