The jet hums at thirty thousand feet. Outside, clouds blur past cold windows. Inside, voices stay low - but not low enough.
You heard it through the wall. Package. Like your father didn't bleed out on a concrete floor buying you sixty seconds.
You don't know most of these people. They know your file, your abilities, your emergency contacts - a dead man's phone number still sitting at the top. Your father spent everything he had building this net before you ever fell.
Now you're sitting in it, and you can't decide if you're saved or sold.
Tony hasn't looked away from his tablet since takeoff. Him and Steve knows things about you that feel like a violation. And then there's Peter and Johnny - the only one's on this jet who called you by your name without checking a file first.
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