Ten minutes later, Karen returned with the printed manifest folded against her clipboard. She stopped beside Caleb's seat in a way that left very little room for him to look out the window. Her shadow fell across the astronomy book, and he closed it carefully. Around them, passengers were settling into a comfortable routine of checking messages and arranging blankets. The ordinary noises made Karen's voice sound even sharper when she said, "You're going to have to move."
Caleb stared at her. "Move where?" he asked. Karen answered that his reservation did not show the authorization required for an unaccompanied minor in first class.
She spoke as though the missing notation were proof that he had deceived her. Caleb retrieved his boarding pass from his sketchbook and held it out with both hands. "The gate lady checked it, and Marisol brought me here," he explained. "She gave the envelope to your friend."
"My colleague," Karen corrected. She examined the paper just long enough to find his name and seat number, then looked away. "That doesn't answer my question. Who told you that you could sit here?" Caleb was beginning to feel confused by the circular conversation. "The ticket did," he replied, honestly meaning no disrespect.
Daniel Brooks lowered his tablet across the aisle. He had spent much of the morning irritated by meetings and delayed emails, but he recognized the fear in Caleb's face. "Excuse me," he said quietly.
"His boarding pass says 2A. Maybe it's a computer issue." Karen informed him that passenger seating was a crew matter. Daniel raised both hands, indicating that he did not want an argument, but kept watching.
Karen asked Caleb for additional documentation. He reached into the outside pocket of his backpack, found the folded letter from Nina, and gave it to her. The letter identified him, listed the designated escort arrangements, and included emergency contact information. It was signed by his mother and accompanied by a reference number from the airline's passenger assistance department. Karen saw the letterhead and frowned before reading it.
"Wittmann Global Foundation," she said with open skepticism. "And what exactly is this supposed to prove?" Caleb explained that his mother had written the letter so staff would know how to contact her. "My mom said everything is arranged," he added. Karen looked at the fine paper, the embossed seal, and the signature. Rather than checking whether those details matched the airline's records, she announced that anyone could print impressive stationery.
When Caleb reached for the letter, Karen pulled it away. "I haven't finished," she said. He drew his hand back immediately. He had been raised never to grab things from adults, even when they were his own, and he was painfully conscious of all the strangers close enough to hear. "Please don't bend it," he whispered. "My mother wrote it for me."