Ten minutes passed. A nearby passenger ordered champagne, someone laughed softly over a video call, and a suitcase door snapped shut. Darien drifted toward sleep with the deliberate relief of a man who had finally reached a place where no one seemed to need anything from him. Then a heavy bag struck the partition beside his shoulder.
He opened his eyes. A man in his mid-forties stood in the aisle, blocking the entrance to 1A. His linen shirt was pale pink, his blazer hung from one shoulder, and the gold chain visible at his open collar caught the cabin lighting. He smelled of strong cologne and the unmistakable sour sweetness of expensive liquor.
The stranger looked down at a paper boarding pass. Then he looked at the number above Darien's seat, and the muscles along his jaw tightened.
"Excuse me," he said.
Darien removed his headphones. "Can I help you?"
"You're in my seat."
There was no question in the statement. The man held the paper closer to Darien's face, tapping it against the edge of the partition as though displaying a legal judgment. The number 1A was printed clearly beneath his name, Preston Carmichael.
Darien glanced at it, then at his own pass. "It looks as though the airline has assigned us both the same seat," he said. "Mine has been confirmed for three months. We should ask the crew to resolve it."
"We should?" Preston repeated. "No, you should move."
"I don't think you understand."
"I understand perfectly," Preston said. "I fly this route twice a week. I'm Diamond Elite. I don't know whose miles you borrowed to get up here, but my seat is 1A."
Darien looked at him calmly. "My name is Darien Phillips. I bought this ticket directly, and I was assigned this suite when I booked it. There is clearly a mistake somewhere, but I didn't cause it."
Preston gave a short laugh and adjusted the blazer on his shoulder. "Well, this is going to be entertaining."
He turned down the aisle and snapped his fingers at Brock Wallace. When she came toward him, her face lit with unmistakable recognition. The warmth Darien had not received at the aircraft entrance appeared instantly and effortlessly.
"Mr. Carmichael," she said. "Welcome back. I didn't realize you were joining us today."
"Neither did I until the connection out of Boston got canceled," Preston replied. "Your people rearranged everything, and now this gentleman has planted himself in my suite. I'd appreciate it if you fixed that."
Brock's smile vanished when she turned to Darien. "Sir, may I see your boarding pass again?"
Darien handed her his phone. "Certainly. It's the same pass you scanned when I boarded."
She studied the display, then Preston's paper ticket. Her brow tightened. She asked Preston for his full name and repeated it into her handset, speaking quietly to the gate team while Darien sat waiting. Twice she nodded and said that she understood. She did not ask Darien any further questions about his purchase or reservation history.