"Don't look now," Jace whispered, leaning across the aisle like he was sharing state secrets. "But the football captain is doing his 'I'm responsible' face."
Kieran didn't even turn his head. He just kept staring out of the plane window, one finger tapping lightly on the armrest. The clouds outside were thick and white—too thick, like someone had painted them on.
"Which one?" Kieran asked. "The 'I'm a hero' face or the 'I'll tell the teacher' face?"
Jace snorted. "Both. He's got range."
Across the aisle, the captain—Callum Reeves—stood half in the walkway, half in his own ego, chatting to two of his teammates while pretending he wasn't scanning the cabin. His voice carried just enough to be heard.
"Everyone keep your seatbelts on, yeah? Just in case turbulence hits. And if anyone feels weird, tell me."
"Tell you?" someone muttered from behind. "What are you gonna do, captain? Throw a ball at the sky?"
Kieran smiled slightly. He didn't look back. He liked hearing people more than being seen hearing them.
Jace nudged him with an elbow. "You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"That thing where you act like you're bored, but you're listening to everyone."
"I'm just enjoying the flight," Kieran said, tone innocent.
Jace rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and I'm the Prime Minister."
Kieran finally glanced over. Jace's grin was easy, the kind that made adults trust him and teachers forgive him. Jace was the sort of person who could talk his way through a locked door and somehow make the door apologize for existing.
Kieran was the sort of person who would rather find the key, copy it, and put it back before anyone noticed it was missing.
On the other side of Jace, a girl sat quietly with her knees tucked up, hood half up, hair tied back. Rachel Lin. She had a book open, but her eyes weren't on the page. They drifted, slow, taking the plane in like she was counting exits.
Kieran had noticed her noticing.
He didn't mention it.
Rachel's gaze shifted, caught him looking, and for a second her expression changed—like she'd been caught holding her breath. Then she looked back down at her book as if the moment hadn't happened.
Jace leaned in again. "You still pretending you don't know she likes you?"
Kieran blinked. "She doesn't."
Jace stared at him like he'd just said the Swarm were friendly. "You are impossible."
Kieran shrugged. "Maybe she likes books."
"She likes you."
"She hasn't said anything."
"That's because she's not a goblin," Jace hissed. "Normal people don't walk up and announce their feelings like they're reading out bus times."
Kieran's eyes flicked to Rachel again. She was looking out the window now, not reading anymore. Her fingers pressed lightly to the glass like she was testing it.
"Look," Jace continued, lowering his voice like the plane had ears. "Just don't do anything stupid on this trip, alright?"
Kieran raised a brow. "Me? Stupid?"
"Yeah," Jace said. "You. The boy who once tried to forge a teacher's signature and spelled her name wrong."
"That was deliberate," Kieran said smoothly. "I wanted it rejected."
Jace burst out laughing, then covered it with a cough when a teacher looked over. "You're a menace."
Kieran let the laughter wash over him, then leaned back into his seat. The plane hummed. It was a normal sound. Comforting, even. It meant the world was functioning.
And functioning was rare these days.
A flight attendant walked by, polite smile fixed in place, eyes scanning every row. Not for snacks. For trouble.
There were always two kinds of people on flights now: those who pretended nothing had changed, and those who watched everything like it was a trap.
Kieran watched the watchers.
A boy two rows ahead—tall, pale, nervous—kept rubbing his hands on his jeans like he couldn't get rid of sweat. His mum had probably cried when he boarded. Everyone's parents cried when their kid traveled during their Quiet Year.
That's what people called it—the year between eighteen and nineteen.
Not because it was calm.
Because everyone spoke softly around you, like loud noise might make the Calling hear.
Jace tilted his head toward the nervous boy. "That's Owen Price."
"So?"
"So his birthday was last month." Jace's smile faded a little. "He's in it."
"In what?"
Jace stared at him. "The Quiet Year, idiot."
Kieran knew that. He also knew the way people talked about it. Like it was weather. Like it was luck. Like it was a monster that sometimes reached into your life and sometimes didn't.
Most people weren't Called.
A few were.
And fewer came back… different.
"Maybe he'll be fine," Kieran said.
Jace's mouth twisted. "Yeah. Maybe."
Rachel closed her book. "You're pretending it doesn't bother you."
Kieran turned slightly. "What?"
She didn't look at him. She kept her eyes on the aisle. "The Quiet Year. You act like it's a joke."
Jace opened his mouth, probably to rescue the conversation, but Kieran spoke first.
"I don't think about it," Kieran said.
Rachel finally looked at him. Her eyes were steady. Not judging. Measuring. "That's not the same thing."
Kieran held her gaze for a beat longer than necessary, then looked away. He didn't like people seeing too far into him. It wasn't safe.
"It's random," he said. "No point panicking."
"It's not random," Rachel replied quietly.
Jace blinked. "Oh—here we go. Conspiracy time."
Rachel ignored him. "It happens to some and not others. There's a reason. We just don't know it."
Kieran smirked. "So you're saying the Echo Deep is picky."
Rachel's expression tightened at the name.
Everyone knew the Echo Deep. Everyone knew the stories.
People pulled into another place, living days in minutes, coming back with an animal shape burned into their soul. Or coming back Hollow.
You didn't joke about Hollow.
Not if you'd ever seen one.
Jace raised both hands. "Alright, alright. No arguing about the spirit realm on a plane, please. I'd like to reach the museum without being cursed."
Kieran leaned back again. "We're not getting Called. It's a school trip. We'll take pictures of old bones and pretend history matters."
Rachel's lips twitched—almost a smile. "History does matter."
"Only when it's graded," Jace said.
A teacher at the front stood up and clapped her hands once. "Everyone! Quick reminder—we'll be landing in about forty minutes. Please stay seated and—"
The plane jolted.
Not turbulence. Not a soft bump.
A heavy thud ran through the cabin like something had hit them from below.
Conversation cut off mid-sentence.
A few students gasped. Someone swore.
The teacher froze, fingers still spread from the clap.
For a second, the plane was quiet enough that Kieran could hear the hum change pitch.
Then the captain—Callum—stood up instantly, like this was his moment. "Everyone stay calm! It's probably just—"
Another impact.
Harder.
The overhead lights flickered.
Rachel's hand snapped to the armrest. She didn't scream. She didn't move wildly. Her eyes went straight to the window, scanning the sky like she expected to see something.
Kieran followed her gaze.
At first he saw only cloud.
Then something moved in it.
Dark shapes—dozens of them—cutting through the white like ink spilled in water. Wings? No. Not wings. Too many legs. Too many angles. Too wrong.
A third impact hit the plane and the cabin screamed.
Oxygen masks dropped like pale fruit from the ceiling.
The flight attendants shouted commands over the intercom, voices strained. "Masks on! Masks on now!"
Kieran's fingers moved before his mind did. He pulled the mask down and shoved it over his mouth and nose. The rubber smelled like plastic and panic.
Jace was laughing.
Not because it was funny—because that was what his brain did when fear didn't know where to go.
"This is not on the brochure," Jace choked out.
Rachel didn't look at either of them. She stared out the window, face pale, whispering something Kieran barely caught.
"They're in the air…"
Kieran's mind snapped through possibilities with cold speed.
Swarm territories weren't supposed to reach this corridor. Flights were planned. Corridors were mapped. The government didn't waste planes.
Unless—
The intercom crackled. A pilot's voice came through, clipped and strained. "Brace for—"
The words vanished under a sound like tearing metal.
The plane lurched sideways.
Students screamed. Someone's bag flew into the aisle. A teacher hit the ceiling and came down hard.
Kieran's stomach dropped so fast it felt like it stayed behind.
He gripped the armrests until his knuckles went white.
Jace's mask slipped; Kieran shoved it back on him without thinking.
Rachel's eyes met his for the first time since it started.
In them, Kieran saw something worse than fear.
Recognition.
Like she'd known this could happen. Like she'd been waiting for the world to prove her right.
The window filled with black.
A swarm of chitin bodies—beetle-thick, spider-limbed, writhing in the air like the sky had grown teeth—slammed into the aircraft.
The plane shuddered.
Then it gave.
The nose dipped.
Gravity became a threat.
The cabin tilted and everything that wasn't strapped down became airborne.
Kieran's heart hammered once, hard enough to hurt.
Jace's eyes were wide, mouth moving under the mask, praying or swearing—maybe both.
Rachel's hand found Kieran's wrist and locked like she was anchoring herself to something real.
The scream of the engine became a scream of wind.
The floor vanished under his sense of direction.
And as the plane began to fall, Kieran didn't think about death.
Didn't think about fear.
His mind did what it always did when things went wrong.
It calculated.
There has to be a way to survive this.
And for the first time in his life…
he truly wanted one.