That was my assigned role: the one-word daughter. The “spreadsheet soldier.” The sister people described with a dismissive shrug, as if I were a background character in their more vibrant lives. I “worked for the government,” a phrase they uttered with the same pitying tone one uses for a cousin who works at the DMV.
Vance Carter, Chloe’s husband, arrived ten minutes before boarding. He radiated the kind of aggressive polish that comes with a seven-figure bonus. He clapped my father on the shoulder and kissed Chloe, his cufflinks glinting like tiny chrome shields.
“Tickets are set,” Vance announced, fanning a stack of boarding passes. “First class. Only the best for the Bennetts.”
He handed them out like awards. One for Arthur. One for Evelyn. One for himself and Chloe. Then, he looked at me with an expression of feigned regret. He reached into his pocket and produced a thin, crumpled slip of paper.
“Here you go, Harper. 34E. Middle seat, near the back. I figured you’d feel more at home near the latrine—remind you of the barracks, right?”
My father let out a sharp, barking laugh. Chloe leaned in, her expensive perfume cloying and sweet. “Think of it as a budget-conscious choice, honey. It suits your… aesthetic.”
I took the pass without a word. I didn’t tell them that my government travel profile was flagged for priority-one clearance. I didn’t tell them that I could have bumped the four of them to standby with a single phone call. I simply slung my rucksack over my shoulder and walked toward the gate.
As I sat in the back of the plane, wedged between a snoring teenager and a window that wouldn’t stop rattling, I pulled out my second phone. It was a matte-black device with no logos and an encrypted kernel.
“Control,” I whispered into the mic. “Eagle One boarding commercial. Maintain passive monitoring on the Pacific corridor. Flag any anomalous regional traffic.”
“Copy, Eagle One,” the voice crackled. “Enjoy the flight.”
