Henri Beck & the Hidden Library | 📖

18

The jet ride was eerily silent for the first hour. Nothing but the sounds of the sleek aircraft's twin engines and Graves' incessant chattering from the cockpit filled the ears of the trio sitting in the passenger bay. They took up seats throughout the jet, occupying separate rows. Thea sat at the front with her legs stretched across two seats. Her messy, onyx hair draped over both her shoulders like a blanket.

Malik sat in one of the middle rows—away from any windows—with his head in his hands. His knuckles were still swollen. Graves offered to get him some ice, but he declined. Perhaps the pain from bashing someone's face in was how he intended to atone for his actions.

As for Henri, he sat in the back row. He stared out the window, losing himself in the thick clouds enveloping the jet. They reminded him of cotton candy. But the farther they traveled through the sky, the thicker they got. They got darker as the day neared its end. Afternoon's comforting, amber glow gave way to moody, purple hues. In the next hour, they'd be traversing through the black expanse of the night.

Sighing, Henri tucked his knees into his chest and wrapped his arms around himself. Resting his chin on his knees, he stole a glance through the headrests in front of him. Malik had finally lifted his head. His brows were furrowed deeply, and he was massaging one of his injured hands.

"You sure you don't need some ice, kid?" Graves called out from the cockpit.

"I'm good," Malik replied flatly.

"Suit yourself." Turning in his seat, their pilot lifted a brow at him. "How'd your hands get like that anyways? You lose a fight to a brick wall or somethin'?"

Malik frowned. "Something like that."

Graves huffed. "Just tryna make conversation. It's a long flight to London, ya' know. Might as well get acquainted and all that. Speakin' of..." He directed his attention to Thea, who was half asleep. "What're you three travelin' to England for?"

"It's kind of private," Thea said with a yawn. "Let's just say we're there on business."

"Business, eh?" Graves squinted at her. "What kinda business are ya' in, girly?"

Now it was Thea's turn to peer at the man speculatively. "That doesn't really concern you."

Henri got up from his seat. The back of the jet was starting to get lonely, and he was getting thirsty. These types of aircraft usually had snacks on them whenever he boarded them. Surely Graves had a bottle of water around somewhere.

"Is there any food or drinks on this thing?" he asked as he made his way toward the front of the cabin. "My throat feels like the Sahara Desert."

"Er, yeah, should be some stuff in that cabinet up there."

"Thanks."

As he shuffled toward the aforementioned cabinet on the left side of the jet, he glanced at his sister. She sent him a discreet nod, likely grateful for the subject change. He nodded back. This Graves guy might've been flying them to London, but that didn't mean he needed to know why.

He wasn't to be trusted.

No one was.

Henri retrieved a bottle of water. His nose crinkled upon seeing the label. "You don't have any sparkling?"

"Seriously, kid?" the pilot asked. "I didn't get much of a notice to stock up on fancy snacks beforehand, ya' know. 'Sides, water is water. That sparklin' stuff gets on my nerves. I mean, who wants bubbles in their water? Just drink a soda—"

"I got it," Henri interrupted. As he prepared to return to his seat, his eyes lingered on Malik's still frame. The boy was staring at his hands. His jaw flexed every couple of moments. A tidal wave of emotions and thoughts could be seen beyond his dark eyes.