Adrian stumbled once, his leather shoes slipping on the smooth floor.

I didn’t look back to see if he got up.

My focus was on the glass partitions of the executive lounge ahead.

The security checkpoint was quiet, the scanners humming softly.

We passed through quickly, Julian’s name clearing the path.

Inside the main terminal hall, the duty-free shops gleamed with bright lights and rows of perfume bottles.

I saw her near the entrance of the lounge.

Serena was sitting in a high-backed leather chair, a glass of white wine in her hand.

She wore a camel-hair coat, her legs crossed elegantly.

Her designer suitcase stood next to her, a small leather backpack resting on top of it.

She looked up as we approached, her expression turning from calm to mildly amused.

“Adrian,” she said, setting her wine glass down on the small table.

“You look terrible.”

“You took the tokens,” Adrian said, his voice trembling as he stepped toward her.

“You took the security keys from my desk.”

Serena didn’t flinch.

She picked up her napkin and patted her lips.