It was Kyper’s discomfort that alerted me first. He was not happy, his ears flattened and an angry hiss cut through the noise. This was the loudest plane I had ever been on, but the sound wasn’t vibration so much as pressure, a steady force that pressed everything back into itself. My stomach dropped, not from turbulence but from direction.
Why were we moving vertical?
This wasn’t a roller coaster.
“Kyper…” I checked the harness straps. He was secure. Unhappy, but secure. I double-checked mine. Neither of us was going anywhere without being forcefully removed. The noise wasn’t easing or changing. It was sustained.
My shoulders felt pinned against the chair. Kyper wasn’t moving at all, which worried me. Even military transport usually had someone in the back, someone telling you to strap in and be still. There was nothing.
I dug my fingers into the armrest. I didn’t understand what was happening. I wanted to, but something was very, very wrong.
Kyper pressed himself hard against the side of his carrier, anger radiating off him. His eyes flicked to mine for a brief moment. I wanted to reassure him. On a side note, I finally understood why this craft had no windows.
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