A young flight attendant standing beside the galley turned toward the compartment. She was a white American woman in her late twenties with auburn hair pinned neatly back, a small scratch on her left wrist, and the strained attentiveness of someone in her first year as a lead-qualified cabin crewmember. "He's right, Trent," she said. "It doesn't sit properly. I noticed it when we boarded."
"Then fix it, Molly." He glanced over his shoulder at Preston. "We're trying to get out on time."
Molly Fenwick reached for the compartment and tested the mechanism. It closed after she reset it, but the uneven edge remained. "I'm going to have maintenance look," she said. "I don't want somebody's bag coming down in turbulence."
Trent held her gaze long enough to make his displeasure clear. "Log it, then. But don't turn it into a production." Molly stepped away to use the crew interphone, choosing the risk of another unpleasant conversation over the larger risk of ignoring something she had seen. Miles noticed and offered a small nod of thanks. She returned it, barely visibly.
Preston moved past the row with an exaggerated sigh. "Bye-bye, buddy. Enjoy the back of the plane when somebody finally sorts this out. He spoke as though the outcome was inevitable, although the seat assignment had already been checked. Miles answered quietly, "Okay.
Just remember you said that at thirty-four thousand feet. He did not raise his voice, and he had no intention of making a threat. He simply wanted Preston to hear how certain he sounded about something he had not earned the right to decide.
Trent ushered the couple toward the next row, promising to find Courtney a solution. Eleanor Price waited until the aisle cleared before turning to Miles. "You handled that better than I would have," she said, her notebook open on her tray table. "I worked in courtrooms for forty years. Men who say 'be reasonable' while denying that you have a choice are usually selling a very poor bargain."
Miles watched Courtney struggle with a suitcase she was not allowed to place in the forward bins. "I don't want a battle over a chair," he said. "I'm just trying to get to Phoenix."
"Sometimes a chair is the thing people use to start a battle," Eleanor replied. "Doesn't mean you started it."
By the time the aircraft doors closed, the forward cabin was tense but orderly. Courtney had been assigned a seat in the first economy row, and Preston had accepted that arrangement only after telling Trent he would speak to someone at the airline. Molly confirmed that maintenance had inspected and reseated the bin latch, then entered the discrepancy in the cabin log. Miles thanked her again, noticing the way she looked over her shoulder before answering. She was careful not to be caught agreeing too warmly with him.