ZOE DEAN'S POV
The moment the plane's wheels hit the runway, a soft jolt ran through the cabin. My chest rose with a quiet sigh — part relief, part exhaustion. Finally. L.A. The view outside the window looked bright and alive, so different from Santiago's calm rhythm. Somehow, it already felt like a fresh start… or maybe I just needed it to feel that way.
The flight attendant's cheerful voice came through the speakers, thanking us for flying and reminding everyone to collect their belongings. I tuned her out halfway through and unbuckled my seatbelt. My legs ached from sitting too long, and my mind — well, that had been restless for weeks.
When I finally stepped out into the terminal, the air felt lighter, cleaner. I rolled my suitcase behind me, scanning the crowd for a familiar face. Nothing yet. People moved in waves — rushing, chatting, dragging their luggage. I was just about to reach into my handbag for my phone when a high-pitched voice cut through the noise.
"Zoe!"
