Ryker swiped the screen to silent and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

He looked up at me, then down at the twins.

“We are leaving now,” he said, his voice softer than I had ever heard it.

Lily did not move, but her small hand tightened on the strap of her backpack.

Owen kept his face pressed against the side of his faded stuffed bear.

I knelt beside Ryker and offered Lily a small, reassuring smile.

“The plane has warm blankets and hot cocoa,” I told her.

She nodded once, a tiny, solemn movement that broke my heart.

We walked out to the tarmac under a grey, drizzling Chicago sky.

The wind was cold, whipping my wool coat around my legs as we boarded the Gulfstream.

Ryker carried Owen, who did not struggle but held his bear like a shield against his chest.

Inside the cabin, the leather seats were deep, smelling of polished wood and expensive travel.

I helped Lily buckle her seatbelt, noting how cold and thin her wrists were.

The jet engines roared to life, and the wet runway blurred beneath us as we lifted into the night.