"Sir, I'm handling a passenger compliance issue. Please remain seated."
The phrase passenger compliance issue sounded serious enough to make him hesitate.
That was another form of authority, Naomi had learned over the years: knowing the language that made ordinary people doubt their own eyes.
The man slowly leaned back.
Elijah looked at him for half a second.
The disappointment on the child's face would later haunt the man more than Rebecca's words.
"Come on," Rebecca said.
She turned Elijah by the shoulder.
"I need the bathroom."
"You should have gone before the cart came out."
"I tried to wait."
"Not my problem."
"Please."
"Enough."
Rebecca pressed him backward.
Elijah planted his feet instinctively.
Not rebellion. Balance.
Rebecca interpreted it as defiance.
"Do not resist me."
"I'm not."
"Yes, you are."
She moved her grip from his shoulder to his upper arm.
Her fingers closed hard.
Elijah gasped.
"Ow."
"Then walk."
She began pulling him down the aisle.
The space book slipped under his elbow and fell to the carpet.
"My book."
Rebecca did not stop.
His backpack struck an armrest. One sneaker caught against a seat support and made him stumble. His free hand grabbed for balance, brushing the shoulder of a passenger who recoiled in surprise.
"Please, you're hurting me."
"Stop making a scene."
That accusation did something to him.
Until then, he had been frightened.
Now humiliation arrived.
Everyone was looking.
A woman in row fifteen raised her phone.
The South Asian man who had asked for water stood halfway into the aisle.
"Miss, he's a child."
Rebecca did not release Elijah.
"Sit down, sir."
"He said you're hurting him."
"I said sit down."
Her voice sharpened.
"Do not interfere with a crew member performing safety duties."
The man hesitated.
Another phone appeared.
Then another.