99. Our House

Riley’s hands trembled as she fumbled with her seatbelt, her heart pounding in her chest like a drum that refused to slow. She hated flying—the closed-in space, the unnatural sensation of leaving the ground, the helplessness of it all. The moment the plane’s engines roared to life, a wave of anxiety crashed over her, threatening to pull her under. Her breathing quickened, shallow and erratic. River, sitting beside her, seemed oblivious at first, his expression unreadable as he stared straight ahead. He had that same detached look he always wore around her, like he couldn’t decide whether to keep his distance or be close. But then, without a word, she felt his hand on hers. It wasn’t much—just a simple touch, but the warmth of his skin against hers sent a shock through her, grounding her in a way she hadn’t expected. Riley glanced at him, startled. His face was still impassive, his eyes fixed forward, but his hand remained, firm and steady, wrapping around hers. “River…” she began. He l