The jet engines were already humming when the boy broke into a run.

Victor ended the call and slipped the phone into his pocket.

For the first time that morning, he really looked at the kid.

Not at the dirt. Not at the torn clothes.
At his eyes.

They weren’t scared the way children’s eyes usually are. They were sharp. Old. Like someone who had learned early that fear didn’t pay the bills.

“What’s your name?” Victor asked.

The boy swallowed. “Ethan.”

“Why are you here, Ethan?”

Ethan’s lips trembled, but his voice held. “Because if you get on that plane, people are going to die.”

A few nervous laughs rippled nearby. Someone muttered, “Jesus.”

Victor didn’t laugh.

He had grown up in a small, crowded apartment where money was always late and promises were always broken. He knew the sound of a lie. This wasn’t it.

“Who dies?” Victor asked.

“My mom,” Ethan said. “And a lot of people you don’t even know.”

Silence settled, heavy and awkward.

The flight attendant leaned closer to Victor. “Sir, we’re already behind schedule.”

Victor ignored her.

“How do you know this?” he asked the boy.