Red Eye

The gate area was nearly empty because a red-eye to London in February didn't attract crowds. Her dark hair was escaping from a ponytail and there were shadows under her eyes, and she walked like she was apologizing for existing, with her shoulders hunched and her arms folded across her chest. She had stopped shaking somewhere around the third whiskey. She was standing by the window in a simple black dress with her dark hair swept up off her neck, listening to Lord Pemberton with a polite smile frozen on her face.