Melgren. Varrish. Markham. Anyone on Aetos’s orders. My mother. The options are endless. “I’m not sure.” It’s not a lie, not really. I slip the envelope into the internal pocket of my flight leathers and then cringe as I button up the jacket. It’s too fucking hot for these things down here, but I know I’ll be grateful for the extra layer in a few minutes once we’re airborne.
