“Then check it.”
He didn’t raise his voice.
He didn’t need to.
Linda turned toward him with the practiced expression crew members use when they are trying to keep a cabin from becoming a group argument.
“Sir, please let us handle this.”
“I think that’s what he’s asking you to do.”
He nodded toward me.
No one laughed.
No one applauded.
The atmosphere had gone too tight for that.
I took the few steps toward the forward galley terminal and pulled up the passenger information attached to the seat.
I expected a quick confirmation.
I did not expect the sight of the record to make me stop with my hand still resting near the screen.
Noah Parker.
Seat 2A.
Confirmed.
The seat assignment was legitimate.
There wasn’t another passenger waiting to claim it.
There wasn’t a mismatch between the boarding pass and the passenger record.
There wasn’t a system error sending him to another row.
The child had been sitting exactly where his record said he belonged from the moment he boarded.
I checked it again because the simplest facts suddenly felt strangely heavy.
Same flight.
Same name.
Same seat.
I turned back toward the cabin.
Linda must have seen something in my face because her expression changed before I said a word.
“What?” she asked.
