(Inside the Jet, Ascending from the Time-Stilled World, Leo's POV)
Once inside the jet, Leo did not take a seat.
He couldn't.
Instead, he simply stood at the jet's window, fingers clawed around the back of the seat in front of him, knuckles white, shoulders hunched forward as he pressed his forehead against the cold pane, watching—waiting—as the scenery below began to blur into rapid ascent.
47… 48… 49…
The numbers echoed in his skull like war drums, not loud but persistent, each tick a hammer to the nerves threading through his spine.
The jet roared louder now, engines straining, tilting the aircraft sharply as it climbed toward the exit portal…. towards freedom….
And yet Leo didn't feel free. Not yet.
56… 57… 58…
The g-force slammed the rest of the passengers back into their seats, some groaning from the pressure, some gripping their harnesses with pale, trembling hands, but not Leo.
