-꓅ꑛꍟ ꅐꋫ꒓꒓ꂑꆂ꒓'ꌚ ꌚꋫꁍꋫ-

Literally fr— i was casually laying down in bed while watching this ep and then this scene happens (was already lookin’ mad weird leading up to it tbh) and i bolt up, stand right up and go “WHAT THE FUCK?!”

in a total Speed fashion tbh bc that happened pit of NOWHERE???

Like I get she’d be worried for Aemond like a mother would be for her son and all but then they kept staring at each other overly long and she’s holding his cheek in *that manner* and then I started getting an inkling that something was odd and then— THAT HAPPENS.

Caught me completely off guard.. geez—

Idk how long I was pacing around trying to *delete that bit from my head* until it got to the next scene lol

…

It was your final attempt to prove to them that you were doing fine. Despite living in LA and struggling to make ends meet, you were determined to pursue your dream of becoming an actress. Your parents of course thought that your aspiration was foolish. They would always push you to return home and take the desk job waiting for you at the office. But no, you stayed determined. You could achieve it. You would attain it!

Even if it meant working a shitty TSA job, especially on the busiest travel day of the year, you were persistent.

You finish your yoga routine, and the sun's first light starts to peek over the horizon. You head into the bathroom for a shower. As you rinse the shampoo from your hair, a nagging feeling overcomes you that you're being watched. You pause for a moment, turning slowly to look around the room.

You're met with no signs of an intruder. There's no one inside the bathroom with you. Though the initial wave of unease passes, a sense of lingering discomfort remains.

You prepare for work, applying makeup, styling your hair up in your hair claw, and donning your uniform. Gathering your belongings, you place them into a bag. You exit your apartment and make your way to the bus stop. After climbing aboard, you make your way toward the airport.

As you enter the airport, you plaster a cheerful smile onto your face. "Good morning!" you cheerfully exclaim to the people around you. You stride to the meeting room, taking a cup with you. Approaching the coffee pot, you begin to fill your cup. As you fish out the lid from your bag, a piece of paper catches your attention. "See you soon," the words on the small yellow note read.

You furrow your brows in confusion; it was definitely a note from your kitchen. Yet, you couldn't recall writing it or being given it. Dismissing the thought, you decided it probably meant nothing. You twist the lid on your cup and walk away, placing your belongings in your employee locker before making your way to your work area, ready to start your shift.

You glance at the clock, the minutes ticking down. As you settle into your seat, Ethan bursts through the door with a look of urgency. You roll your eyes affectionately and shake your head, "You're getting closer each time." Jason, a friend of yours, chuckles as he slides into a seat with a remark, "That's a record."

Ethan takes a seat next to you, joined by Jason. You smile at him as you speak, congratulating him on his new addition to their family. Ethan's mouth drops slowly open with surprise. "How did you find out?" he asks, dumbfounded.

You laugh heartily, "Good news spreads fast.” Jason smiles at his friend, “I'm happy for you," he says encouragingly. Ethan turns to Jason, puzzled. "I thought you and Rochelle were taking the boys to Murrieta?" he questions. Jason nodded in affirmation. "We are. Rochelle is heading up early today. I'll join them after my shift." You playfully pout and express your wish. "I want to go on a vacation," you say wistfully.

Mr. Sarkowski calls the group together, "Listen up, everybody. It is that time of year again. We have Contraband Bingo running. Five bucks per card. No cash, no card, no exceptions. The list includes gummies, dildos, vibrators, knives, and bullets. Everything gets its square."

You shake your head as you pick up a card. "This should be fun," you say with a touch of sarcasm. You stand up and bid farewell to the guys. "See you out there, fellas." You exit the room, making your way to your position at the metal detector.

The energy in the air changed as people began to flood into the airport and gather in clusters. You turn to Lionel and grimace. "Are you ready to face the most difficult people in the world?" you ask, bracing yourself.

Lionel chuckles heartily, "Darling, no one can have a bad day with a smile like yours." You stand there, taking in Lionel's kind and encouraging words. The stress of the day slowly begins to melt away.

You watch as Ethan approaches from behind and takes a seat at the scanner. You raise your eyebrows skeptically. "So, I guess the boss is letting you test out being in charge today, huh? On Christmas Eve?" you respond, a hint of sarcasm in your tone. Ethan chuckles sheepishly, "Well, someone has to oversee the checkpoint, right?" he replies with a hint of amusement.

You respond, "Good luck to you," a slight smile on your face, as you pat his back reassuringly.

The day started normally, with the usual bag inspections happening here and there. Yet, the mood among the travelers was tense, they were all on edge. You put forth extra effort to spread some holiday cheer, brightening up their day with your infectious smile and friendly banter. You shared a few jokes with some individuals, attempting to ease the tension in the air.

You overhear Mr. Sarkowski mentioning your cheerful demeanor on a bingo card. "Looks like '(y/n) being overly cheerful' is the next item to be checked off," he says, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Ethan allows a bag through without issue, and you pass through the metal detector effortlessly. You compliment her. "I love your hairstyle," you say, particularly fond of her blue streaks. "Thanks," she replies with a smile, retrieving her belongings from the security scanner. She glances down into the scanner's sorting bin and furrows her brow. She pushes the bowl towards you, apologetically. "Um, sorry, this isn't mine," she says, with a hint of concern.

You peer inside and notice a pair of earpieces lying at the bottom of the container. It seems like someone else left them behind. You nod at her and respond, "Thanks for letting me know. Happy holidays!"

You lift the earpieces and present them to Ethan. "Lost and found?" you ask, holding up the items in question. Ethan looks at the earpieces and nods. "Yeah, lost and found," he replies.

As you prepare to place the earpieces in the designated drawer, Ethan steps in and halts you, "Hold up." He stops you in your tracks. You regard him with a puzzled expression as you watch him glance at his phone. Almost instantly, your phone vibrates deep within your back pocket. The words "left ear. now." appear on your screen, emanating from an unknown number.

You turn to Ethan, a puzzled expression on your face, as he holds out his hand and demands, "Give me the right one." You hand Ethan the right earpiece before placing the left one in your ear.

“Okay you two, today is a day that you’re going to remember for a very long time,” a voice speaks through the earpiece to you. A voice suddenly speaks through the earpiece, filling the air with a cryptic message. You glance around anxiously, searching for the origin, while Ethan appears just as lost. "But if you handle it right, you’ll have a chance to forget it," the voice continues, leaving you both baffled.

You voice a tentative greeting through the earpiece, "Hello?"

The voice echoes once more, "One bag, that’s all.” Ethan gazes at you, a puzzled expression on his face. "Excuse me?" he repeats, perplexed.

The voice asserts, "One bag. You’re going to let it through. That's the deal. That's what's gonna happen." Ethan snickers softly, "Nice try, Eddie. I hope you rap better than you prank or (y/n) and I am out two bucks each." His tone is laced with humor, and you both chuckle at the suggestion.

You observe that Eddie appears not to be the culprit. Turning to Ethan, your eyes widen with fear as you murmur, "It's not Eddie." Once more, the voice continues, "A smart one you are, (y/n). Eddie is currently in lane one, driving his inaugural Maybach.”

A wave of unease washes over you as you become increasingly aware of the gravity of the situation. "Just relax, (y/n), okay?" The traveler's voice assures you, adding, "You're too pretty to have a breakdown before noon."

The voice directly addresses Ethan, explaining the situation: "Soon, one of my associates will step into your line with a boarding pass for Northwind Flight 1850, a nonstop flight to JFK. It's your job to ensure that his bag gets through the scanner without any issues." Ethan reacts to the request with skepticism, asking, "This is a joke, right?"

The traveler's voice returns with a calm tone, asking, "Is anything I've said funny?" "No," you reply quietly, knowing that the situation is far from a joke. The voice continues, conveying a hint of frustration, "You weren't my first choice, Ethan. You're not supposed to be where you are today."

As the voice speaks your name, the words that follow send a chill down your spine. "However, (y/n), you were exactly my first choice." "Why's that?" you ask, your voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of trepidation. The voice responds, "I’m a good judge of character." The gentle, reassuring tone of his words sticks in your ears, evoking a strange sense of comfort.

The thought of being observed by this mysterious individual brings forth a question: how long had he been watching you?

You gather your courage and ask the question on your mind, "What's in the bag?" The answer to your question comes from the traveler, "Diamonds out of Papua New Guinea."

Ethan's skepticism is evident as he declares, "Bullshit." The voice responds with a matter-of-fact tone, "Okay." Ethan's observation reveals his skepticism, as he remarks, "You answered too quickly."

The traveler's words strike a nerve, causing you to tense up. "Yeah, maybe that's because knowing won't change anything," the voice continues, "and I hope I don't have to execute someone close to either of you to prove it." The traveler then makes a chilling observation, speaking your name in a matter-of-fact tone, "Your family's coming in on the one p.m. flight, isn't that right, (y/n)?"

The mention of your family's arrival, coupled with the stranger's knowledge of this information, has left you frozen in your tracks. You gather the courage to ask the question that had been weighing on your mind, "Who are you?"

The man's voice maintains a nonchalantly casual tone as he continues, "I'm just a traveler headed home for the holidays, like everyone else. If we met at the grocery store, I bet we'd be having dinner with each other tonight, but we're meeting like this, and I'm telling you how this goes, sweetheart. Now, keep your voice down and do exactly as I say." Ethan interjects, seeking confirmation, "And you're watching us right now?"

The response comes through crystal clear, "Yes I am." Ethan discreetly pulls out his phone, his fingers dialing the number "9-1-1." "What am I doing?" he mutters to himself, his tension escalating. Your hopes for a quick resolution are dashed as the stranger continues their unsettling revelation, "Nora Parisi. Twenty-seven, recently promoted to manager of Northwind Operations."

You exchange a horrified glance with Ethan, both of you shaken by the stranger's comprehensive knowledge of your lives.

"Hang up now, or Nora dies," the traveler calmly states, his threat hanging heavily in the air. Ethan's shock turns to disbelief as he exclaims, "What did you say?"

The traveler calmly repeats his threat, "My people have a Barrett M82 sniper rifle pointed at her head. Hang up the call..."

Fear for your friend grips you as you rush toward Ethan's phone and hastily cancel the call, your own heart racing with anxiety. The tone of the traveler's voice is almost patronizing as he praises, "Good. See? Good judge of character. Now, take Ethan's phone and yours and lock them in the lost and found."

As you secure the phones in the lost and found bin, Ethan responds in a composed manner, "I accept. Just be cool, okay?" The traveler continues calmly listing the consequences, "Today won't be easy, but it'll be simple. When the plane departs at five forty, you are free to live your life.

If the bag gets flagged, Nora dies. If you pull my associate, your mother dies. If you talk to the police, I skin your cat. If anyone opens the bag..."

You release a sigh, acknowledging the threat with a nod. "Okay, we understand," you reply, your voice tinged with trepidation. The hint of genuine concern laces your voice as you implore, "Just please, don't hurt anyone." The line goes dead, and you can’t help but shiver a little in the aftermath of this disturbing situation. You look at each other with a mix of astonishment and anxiety.

The traveler's voice returns with a gentler tone, attempting reassurance, "I'm not going to, sweetheart. Not if you just listen to me." You nod obediently, forcing yourself to continue with your duties despite the tremors of fear that course through your body. "I'm listening," you reply, your voice quivering slightly. The traveler's voice responds, a note of satisfaction in his tone, "Good because I'm watching."

The traveler's voice interrupts, but to your surprise, he seems to be addressing you directly. "So, you were a volleyball player in college. Majored in hospitality. Now you're... a failed actress?" A mix of defensiveness and determination laces your words as you reply, "Not failed. I'm still trying."

The traveler's tone takes on a hint of condescension as he comments, "Right, right. That's cute. I could see you in some rom-com, kinda like this. Don’t you think?" You bristle at the traveler's sardonic tone, but deep down, his description hits a sore spot. He seems to be aware of your ambitions and insecurities all too well. Your response comes out more forcefully than you intended. "No. Not like this," you insist, emphasizing the fact that your hopes and dreams are not something to be mocked so lightly.

The traveler's tone becomes almost mocking as he points out details from your life, "Oh come on, your bookcase says different. So many suspenseful romances, you're practically in one right now." The realization that this man has been inside your home sends a chill down your spine, prompting you to murmur, "So you've been in my home."

“I have,” The traveler confirms your realization with a flat, matter-of-fact tone, his intrusion into your personal space adding an extra layer of discomfort to the already tense situation.

The thought of the stranger's presence in your home, potentially while you were unaware, fills you with a sense of violated space. You venture a question, your voice barely above a whisper, "Were you there this morning?" A moment of uneasy silence follows your question as the traveler contemplates his response. Finally, he speaks, his tone measured and calculated, "Did you see me?"

A chill runs down your spine as you hesitantly reveal your unease, "No, but... I felt…" Your voice trails off, unable to articulate the strange sensation of being watched. The traveler's words hit you like a slap, revealing that not only had he been in your home, but he had observed you in your most intimate moments. "You look good doing your morning yoga," he says.

The traveler's blunt comment elicits a mix of embarrassment and irritation, causing a flush to spread across your cheeks. "Shut up," you mutter, your cheeks burning with a mixture of discomfort and embarrassment.

The realization that this stranger has invaded your privacy in such a profound way is unsettling, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable. You can't help but feel a sense of violation as you struggle to come to terms with the knowledge that you have been watched, not only in your home but also in your most vulnerable moments.

You find yourself grappling with a torrent of emotions as the traveler's words ring in your ears. This situation, this entire scenario, is wrong and dangerous. But despite your best efforts, an image begins to form in your mind - the face to match the voice that is commanding you with such authority. In your mind, you imagine a handsome visage, strong and capable, its features framed by a determined, almost arrogant expression.

The sudden snap of a man’s fingers snaps you back to reality, causing you to jolt slightly. Shaking away the thoughts and images that had momentarily consumed you, you focus your attention on the man before you, his urgent tone snapping you back to the present moment. "Hey, come on! I’ve got somewhere to be!" he exclaims impatiently.

The traveler, as if sensing your agitation, speaks to you in a gentler tone, "You seem tense." The change in his voice is almost comforting, providing a slight respite from the mounting tension. Your response comes out as a scoff, the frustration and fear building inside you evident in your voice. "Wonder why," you reply with biting sarcasm, your tone laced with disbelief at the traveler's apparent obliviousness.

The traveler lets out a low hum of approval upon hearing your sarcastic retort. "I like women with a sense of humor," he tells you, a hint of amusement in his voice. Your frustration continues to show in the way you address the traveler, your voice laden with annoyance. "Not helping," you mutter. The traveler's attempts at humor and nonchalant banter only serve to grate on your already frayed nerves.

The traveler transitions the conversation abruptly, his tone becoming slightly more relaxed. "Then let's talk about something else. Tell me about your holiday plans," he prompts, seemingly eager to change the subject. The traveler's earlier statement about knowing everything about you comes into focus, his claim serving as a reminder of the extent of his knowledge about your life. "I thought you knew everything about me," you respond dryly, the sarcasm evident in your tone.

The traveler nonchalantly confirms your suspicion about his knowledge, revealing that he has indeed been paying close attention. "I do, but I like to hear you talk," he says, his tone dripping with subtle smugness.

You release a weary sigh, resigning yourself to the knowledge that resistance is futile. "My family is flying in for the holidays," you continue, your words tinged with a mix of resignation and anticipation. The mention of your family elicits a curious response from the traveler, his interest piqued by the casual revelation. "Are you excited?" he asks, his tone betraying a hint of intrigue.

Despite the traveler's evident interest, your response is blunt and non-committal. "Not really," you respond, your lack of enthusiasm evident in your voice. The traveler seems momentarily surprised by your response, a hint of disappointment creeping into his tone. "Why not?" he inquires, his curiosity piqued by your nonchalant attitude towards the upcoming holiday.

Your honest response reflects the strain between you and your family, the traveler sensing the disappointment and hurt hidden beneath your words. "Because they just think I’m wasting my time," you admit, your voice tinged with resignation and a hint of bitterness.

The traveler, now aware of the strained relationship with your family, lets out a soft hum of understanding, his tone sympathetic. "That can’t be easy," he remarks, his words laced with unexpected empathy.

The traveler's question takes you by surprise, his interest in your career ambitions evident in his words. "So tell me, what's your plan? Name in the big lights?" he inquires, his voice carrying a mix of curiosity and... admiration.

The words flow easily from your lips, the passion and determination evident in your voice as you share your earliest dreams and ambitions. "I’ve wanted to be an actress since I was little. Nothing else has ever really caught my attention," you explain, your words filled with a mixture of determination and nostalgia.

You glance over at Ethan, noting the way he subtly speaks into his Apple Watch. A flicker of curiosity mingled with a hint of intrigue passes over your features as you attempt to piece together the situation. Ethan continues speaking, his voice steady and controlled. "They got dogs and..." he murmurs, his words trailing off meaningfully.

The realization hits you like a wave, causing a surge of fear and uncertainty to wash over you. Not only are you worried for your safety, but now you also feel a strange sense of attachment to the unknown traveler on the other line, and the thought of potentially losing this connection with him is strangely unsettling.

Confusion and conflict wage a silent battle within you, your mind a whirlwind of emotions and conflicting thoughts. The traveler's voice breaks through the chaos in your mind, his words both surprising and oddly reassuring. "Let's cancel the text," he suggests calmly, a hint of authority in his voice.

You release a heavy sigh of mixed relief and regret as you watch Ethan cancel the text. Despite the uncertainty that gnaws at your insides, you can't help but feel a strange sense of reassurance in the traveler's words and tone.

The traveler's voice carries a hint of urgency and authority as he addresses Ethan, his words demanding immediate compliance. "Attaboy. Now, stand up walk over to the drawer, and put the watch in there next to your phone. We're off to a real bad start here," he dictates, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.

The traveler's voice turns to Ethan again as he questions his trustworthiness. "This won't work if I can't trust you. Understand?"

Ethan, ever the realist, nods in response, his words carrying a sense of grim determination. "You can trust me," he assures.

The traveler's question lingers in the air, his attention now solely focused on you. "What about you, honey? Can I trust you?" he repeats, his voice almost gentle, as if seeking a glimpse into your soul.

The words leave your lips with such ease and honesty that it almost surprises you. "Yes. You can trust me," you assure him confidently, your voice conveying a mix of sincerity and a sense of loyalty. You can't explain why, but you genuinely believe that you and the traveler are on the same side.

The traveler's voice carries an undercurrent of warning as he continues to address both you and Ethan, his words a stern reminder. "Now, I've given you two warnings, and the next time, there's gonna be consequences. Do you understand me?"

The weight of his words hangs heavily in the air, a sense of finality and seriousness seeping through. Despite the fear that lingers, you can feel a sense of commitment to following his instructions and living up to your promise of trust.

The traveler's words, addressed directly to you, hold a hint of condescension mixed with genuine concern. "You're smart (y/n). Yet, you still seem unhappy. You can steal what happiness you can when you can. Or just stay on autopilot for the rest of your life. I can help you with that."

His words cut straight to the core of your struggles and insecurities, a sharp reminder of the dissatisfaction that gnaws at you daily. Yet, there's a subtle glimmer of understanding and a hint of a challenge in his voice, as if he sees something in you that you haven't fully recognized yourself.

Your mind works diligently to piece together the puzzle of the traveler's surroundings, using the subtle background sounds as your guide. As the sounds coalesce into a coherent picture, your gaze scans the bar, searching for a familiar face.

Then, your eyes come to rest on a man sitting at the bar, wearing a black jacket and a black baseball cap. It could be a coincidence, but something about him catches your attention. Your eyes are immediately drawn to his solitary form, the subtle details of his attire matching your mental image of the traveler.

The question leaves your lips, with curiosity, and a hint of suspicion in your tone. "What are you trying to say?" you ask, your gaze unwavering as you try to gauge the traveler's intentions and the significance of the man at the bar.

The moment hangs in the air, the tension palpable as you await his response and the revelation of his hidden motives.

The stranger's words echo in your mind, a mix of flattery and pragmatism in his tone. "You're smart. You know, the smart ones find a job that pays the most money for the least amount of work. And they spend the rest of their time doing whatever makes them happy."

You can't help but think that he knows you even better than you know yourself. His observation feels uncanny as if he's peering into your innermost thoughts and desires. You find yourself considering his words, the truth of his statement resonating with your own yearning for a better work-life balance.

The question slips from your lips, an attempt to gain insight into the traveler's own philosophy and lifestyle. "Is that what you do?" you inquire, your curiosity piqued by the idea that this stranger has it all figured out.

You await his response with anticipation, eager to hear if his advice is based on personal experience and whether his words hold any truth or hypocrisy. The stranger's words, spoken with a hint of confidence and a touch of invitation, leave you momentarily speechless. "I think you'd be surprised with how well I live. I could show you," he says.

For a moment, you are captivated by the possibility of glimpsing into this mysterious stranger's world, a world that seems so different from your own mundane reality. Curiosity and a hint of intrigue battle within you.

Ethan's sudden intervention snaps you out of your reverie, his actions stopping the moving belt and prompting your confused question. "What are you doing?" you ask, frustration creeping into your tone as you try to make sense of his actions.

Your furrowed brows betray your confusion, your attention now fully directed towards Ethan and his unexpected interference. The frustrated passenger's voice cuts through the tense atmosphere, his impatience evident in every word. "Does it take a doctorate to read a computer screen? Let's go," he repeats, his tone tinged with irritation.

Ethan, seemingly unfazed by the passenger's impatience, calmly slides the man's bag down to you. "Bag check," he mutters, his tone matter-of-fact.

Your hand reaches for the bag, the weight of the responsibility evident in your movements, but they are slow. You wanted to avoid opening the bag.

Ethan addresses the man with a professional tone, requesting to see his boarding pass. "Sir, could I see your boarding pass, please?" he asks.

The man in front of you nods, pulling out his boarding pass and passing it over to Ethan without any hesitation. The tension in the air grows as you await the outcome of the interaction.

Ethan speaks with a professional tone, addressing the man by name. "Mr. Herter, I need to conduct a quick inspection. If you prefer, we can use a private room."

Ethan's decision to inspect a public area puts the entire situation at risk, the potential consequences hanging heavily in the air. The traveler's urgency and impatience only exacerbate the predicament, adding another layer of tension to the already tense scenario.

Ethan's gaze falls upon you, as he watches your actions, waiting for you to open the man's bag. However, you stand frozen, paralyzed by fear and disappointment at the traveler's silent reproach. Your hand hovers over the bag's zipper, but your heart races, and your mind races with conflicting thoughts.

Your voice trembles with anxiety and uncertainty as you express your doubts about the necessity of the inspection. "I really don't think it's necessary," you murmur, your words tinged with fear and a trace of defiance. Ethan's eyes don't leave you, his gaze locked onto your face.

Ethan pushes the bag down further, his tone firm but professional. "In that case, I'll have a law enforcement officer run your boarding pass while I search. It'll save time," he states.

As you observe the scene unfold, you notice Lionel using a black light to scan the boarding pass. You watch with growing curiosity as the words appear, invisible to the naked eye until illuminated by the black light. "Sneaky sneaky," you think to yourself, the cleverness of the hidden message sinking in.

Your mind is conflicting with itself, torn between the fear of the traveler being caught and the strange feeling of wanting to protect him. "He's a criminal," you remind yourself, "He should be caught." Yet, despite that, there's a part of you that strangely doesn't want that to happen. Your emotions are a whirlwind of confusion and uncertainty.

Your frustration bursts forth in a forceful question directed at Ethan, your emotions running high. "What the fuck, Ethan?" you demand, your voice betraying a mix of irritation and worry. You're still trying to process the events that unfolded, the conflicting emotions and thoughts swirling inside you.

Ethan's casual shrug only adds fuel to your frustration, his nonchalant attitude seemingly at odds with the seriousness of the situation. "You're acting like this isn't a big deal," you point out, your voice tinged with annoyance.

You attempt to justify your perspective, "I just know how to follow the rules. You're going to get someone hurt," you argue, your concern evident in your words. Ethan's lax attitude towards protocol and the potential consequences of his actions is infuriating and alarming.

The traveler's voice filters through, his words carrying a mix of intrigue and allegory. "There's a story I once heard about a tribe in the Serengeti…" he begins, drawing your attention to the story he's recounting.

As you listen, you also notice the sound of movement in the background, as if the stranger is walking around the crowded area, apologizing to people as he passes by. "Excuse me," he casually says, his voice almost lost amidst the hustle and bustle of the airport.

The traveler's voice continues, painting a vivid and unsettling picture. "So, when night fell, they crept into the man's hut and slit the throats of all three children." His words hang heavily in the air, the story's violent turn chilling you to the core.

Suddenly, a woman's scream pierces the air, causing a ripple of panic to spread throughout the area. Lionel collapses to the ground, and the scene devolves into chaos, with people calling for a doctor. Amongst it all, you catch a glimpse of a man in a black jacket and hat, the realization hitting you like a shot.

The man stands up, his gaze meeting yours for a brief moment, his smirk sending a shiver down your spine. “We need a doctor!” He calls out in false panic. It was him, the man you had been talking to all this time. He slowly begins to walk away from the chaos, leaving you in a state of shock and disbelief. You watch him leave, the confusion and shock evident on your face, his smirk lingering in your mind like a haunting memory.

The urge to follow the man, to go with him, is stronger than you expected, his presence having created a strange connection in your mind. His fearlessness, his way with words, and his commanding demeanor make him seem almost unreal, like a character straight out of a book you've read. You debate with yourself, torn between the instinct to run and the inexplicable desire to be with him.

The airport staff swiftly removes you from your station in the wake of the commotion. Sarkowski, your supervisor, instructs you to take a break, suggesting you grab a coffee or take a walk. You comply, still feeling shaken and shocked by the event, and the thought of taking a break to clear your head seems like a good idea.

As you follow Sarkowski's instructions, you can't help but think about Lionel, and the fact that he was such a kind man, always looking out for everyone, even you. You feel a mix of sadness and disbelief as the weight of what happened starts to sink in.

You're walking towards the break room to try and gather your thoughts when suddenly, you find yourself pulled into a nearby storage room. The door closes and locks behind you, your back pressed against the hard surface of a body, their hand covering your mouth, muffling any sound.

Fear and panic well up within you as you're unable to move or speak, your heart racing with the realization that you're trapped in a vulnerable position.

The voice of the traveler, now identified as the man who had pulled you into the storage room, speaks softly into your ear, his tone calm and almost soothing.

"Relax," he whispers, his words carrying a hint of reassurance. You feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, and despite the circumstances, a strange sense of comfort washes over you, the panic within fading slightly.

The traveler, his hand still firmly covering your mouth, asks you calmly, "I'm going to remove my hand. Are you going to scream?"

You feel the pressure slightly lessen, yet his hand remains in place, waiting for your response. The urge to call out for help lingers in the back of your mind, but a strange sense of trust in him holds you back.

You manage to shake your head slightly, the movement barely perceptible, but still conveying your intention to stay compliant. Your heart continues to pound in your chest as you await his next move, a mix of anticipation and tension coursing through you.

The traveler seems satisfied with your response, his hand slowly lifting away from your mouth, though you can feel his body remaining close to your back.

The traveler's voice breaks the silence, a tone of concern evident in his words, "You alright?"

You can sense the sincerity in his question, and a moment of realization washes over you. This man, who had just pulled you into a storage room, was asking if you were alright. Your mind grapples with the conflicting emotions coursing through you.

The words spill out of your mouth before you can stop them, a mix of accusation, anger, and confusion present in your tone. "You... killed him."

The weight of your accusation hangs heavy in the air, the atmosphere in the small storage room practically suffocating. The tension rises as you await his response, your emotions conflicting with the strange bond you've established with this stranger.

You manage to turn around to face him, creating a small distance between the two of you. The storage room suddenly feels even more cramped, the air thick with tension. Your eyes meet his, a mixture of confusion, fear, and curiosity swirling in your gaze.

The stranger regards you with a cool, almost casual demeanor, his eyes studying you intently as if trying to gauge your reactions.

The stranger's words, spoken with a hint of nonchalance, leave you stunned and confused. "I don't know about that," he says, his tone matter-of-fact, "Ethan knew the simple rules."

You struggle to comprehend the words he's saying, the nonchalance in his delivery not matching the gravity of his actions.

The stranger's response, a simple admission of his normalcy, catches you off guard. "I'm not some cartoon villain. I'm just a regular guy," he reiterates, his words tinged with a hint of vulnerability and almost... honesty.

His statement, so different from the image of a cold-blooded killer, leaves you bewildered. You struggle to reconcile this seemingly ordinary man with the events that have unfolded.

His features, now so close to you, appear more defined and complex. His sharp, blue eyes, framed by a straight nose and slightly disheveled hair creeping past the edges of the black cap, create a captivating visage.

You can't help but stare at him, your gaze taking in every detail, trying to discern the depths beneath the surface.

The corners of the man's lips curl upward, forming a subtle smirk. He can see you studying his features, and the smirk in his eyes suggests that he doesn't mind the attention.

You break eye contact, realizing you've spent too long studying his features. With a glance away, you attempt to recover your composure, trying to hide the fact that you find him intriguing.

The man's fingers, gentle yet firm, guide your face back towards him, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. As your eyes meet his, a strange mix of feelings washes over you - fear, curiosity, and a strange sense of connection, as if his gaze holds some sort of power over you.

He stares deeply into your eyes as if searching for something, the silence in the storage room almost deafening. The soft question escapes your lips, the single word hanging in the air with a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty. "What?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

The stranger doesn't answer immediately, his gaze holding onto yours as if he's carefully considering his next words or actions. His fingers remain on your chin, his touch feeling both soothing and electrifying at the same time. There's a strange intimacy in this moment, a connection that defies logic and reason.

His words, spoken with a hint of tenderness and concern, make your heart flutter slightly. "Just making sure it’s okay," he repeats, his tone filled with a subtle s incerity.

As you look into his blue eyes, you can't help but feel a mix of unease and attraction. Part of you wants to pull away, to free yourself from his grip, but another part of you craves the intimacy of his gentle touch.

Before you can even react, the stranger's lips are on yours in a sudden rush of emotion, capturing your lips in a surprisingly gentle yet fervent kiss. The kiss is intense, filled with a mix of urgency and a strange tenderness.

Your eyes widen in surprise as the kiss sends a jolt of electricity through your body, the sensation both unexpected and exhilarating.

For a moment, the world around you fades away, replaced by the feeling of his lips against yours, his hand still cradling the side of your face. The intimacy of the moment is overwhelming, and your entire world seems to narrow down to this one brief connection, as if time and space have ceased to exist.

The soft moan that escapes your lips, a sound of both surrender and pleasure, seems to fuel the passion in the kiss. You allow yourself to lean into him, the contact between your bodies both comforting and intoxicating.

The stranger responds by deepening the kiss, his hand on your face moving to the back of your head, pulling you closer to his strong frame.

The intensity of the kiss grows as he pulls you closer, his hand now woven through your hair, holding you securely against him. The stranger's body presses against yours, the closeness and the heat between you both sending a wave of electricity coursing through you.

Your mind is a whirlwind of emotions, a mixture of confusion, confusion, and a strange sense of surrender. You feel both out of control and strangely secure in his embrace.

The stranger's words, spoken against your lips in a low, rough whisper, break the spell of the kiss. Even amidst the intensity of the moment, you can sense a hint of reluctance in his voice as he speaks to someone you can't see.

"Alright, alright," he murmurs, his tone a mix of annoyance and resignation. You feel his lips linger against yours for a moment longer before he slowly pulls back, leaving you feeling both bewildered and wanting more.

The stranger's words ring through the air, a mix of encouragement and a hint of endearment. "Stay sharp. Days almost over, sweetheart," he tells you, his voice slightly softer than before.

Despite the casualness in his tone, the nickname "sweetheart" resonates within you, adding another layer of confusion to the mix of emotions swirling inside you. You can't help but feel a mix of disappointment and curiosity as he prepares to leave, the memory of his kiss still lingering on your lips.

He disappears as quickly as he has arrived, leaving you standing in the small storage room, your mind reeling from the whirlwind of emotions and thoughts. The memory of his kiss, the touch of his body, and the sound of his voice linger in your mind, the events of the past minutes playing over and over again in your head.

You're left with a swirling mix of confusion, arousal, and an inexplicable desire to see him again, the mysterious stranger leaving you with more questions than answers.

The coffee in your hand feels strangely comforting, a small reminder of normalcy amidst the chaos of your thoughts.

You try to rationalize his actions, convincing yourself that it must have been nothing more than a distraction. The kiss was likely a means to take your mind off the situation, to throw you off balance. But despite your attempts to dismiss it, the feel of his lips against yours, and the memory of his touch, refuse to fade from your mind.

You return to your place at the bag check, outwardly appearing composed and focused, but inwardly, your mind is preoccupied.

Jason approaches, taking a seat at the scanner nearby, and you can't help but furrow your brow, something about his presence makes you feel on edge. You question him about Ethan's absence, curiosity piqued.

"Isn't Ethan scanning?" you ask, your voice filled with a mix of confusion and suspicion. Jason replies with a matter-of-fact tone, explaining that Sarkowski instructed him to take over for Ethan. His words hang in the air, yet the sense of unease doesn't fade.

The thought crosses your mind, a sense of uncertainty creeping in. If Ethan isn't on the scanner, how is the bag going to go through without issue?

Your eyes dart around, searching for the traveler, and you spot him a noticeable distance from Ethan. The suspicion grows, and you speak into your earpiece, a sense of urgency in your voice.

"We've got a problem," you murmur, your words barely carrying through the earpiece.

The traveler halts in his tracks, turning to look at you, a hint of surprise in his eyes. Then, he responds with a hint of amusement, a mixture of humor and sarcasm in his voice. "Are we fighting already?" he asks, his words carrying a subtle challenge.

Your words hang in the air, “Ethan’s been kicked off the scanner.” The stranger's gaze remains on you, his eyes flicking to the scanner where Jason sits and back, his brow furrowing in contemplation.

“Then I guess Ethan’s got a problem to fix,” The stranger's words hang in the air with a touch of sarcasm, yet there's a hint of concern in the undertone. His gaze lingers on you, as if waiting for your next move or any other piece of information you may have to offer. The clock seems to tick slower as the tension builds, the weight of the situation pressing on your shoulders.

Ethan returns to the area, having received the instruction to return to the scanner. You shake your head, your words a firm reminder. "You have to get back on the scanner," you tell him, your tone leaving no room for argument.

The low, smooth voice of the stranger reaches your ears, his words causing a strange flutter in your chest. "That's my girl," he murmurs, the praise and endearment in his tone sending a wave of conflicting emotions through you. Your cheeks warm slightly, and you try to hide your response, though he seems to have noticed your reaction, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

The stranger's words, addressed to both you and Ethan, carry a hint of warning and a subtle threat. "She's right, you know?" he says, his tone a mix of amusement and a hint of concern. "If you're not on that machine by the time our man gets there, you're in breach. Then maybe I don't start with Nora," he continues, his voice taking on a more serious tone, the mention of Nora adding a note of weight to his words.

Ethan's response to the stranger's words is immediate, his voice filled with defiance. "I don't care what you do to me," he declares, a stubborn determination evident in his tone. The stranger's gaze lingers on Ethan, his expression unreadable, his reaction masked by a neutral façade.

The stranger's words carry a hint of threat, yet they're also tinged with a strange sense of compassion. "Who said anything about you?" he retorts, his eyes locked on Ethan, the tension between them palpable. "Your friend there is coming off the machine. You can decide if it happens your way or mine," he repeats, emphasizing Ethan's choice in the matter, a subtle way of manipulating the situation and Ethan's actions.

Ethan, quick to react, swiftly devises a plan, framing Jason for drinking on the job. The wheels in his mind spin, and he effectively places himself back on the scanner, his quick thinking and manipulation skills coming into play. Despite the strange situation, you can't help but be impressed by his ability to adapt and think on his feet.

The stranger's voice filters through your earpiece, his instructions clear and concise. "Red baseball cap, three o'clock, by the bins. That's our guy," he murmurs, his tone serious and focused. Your eyes dart to the specified location, your gaze falling on the man with the red baseball cap by the bins, the subject of the stranger's words.

Ethan's question, "There are 250 people on that flight. You gonna kill 250 people?" is met with the stranger's chilling response, a simple and matter-of-fact "Mmm-hmm." The words hang heavy in the air, the gravity of the situation sinking in. You can't help but feel a chill run down your spine, the reality of the threat setting in and the weight of the stranger's words leaving a foreboding feeling in the pit of your stomach.

Ethan's question, "Why are you doing this?" echoes in the air, seeking an answer from the stranger. The stranger looks at Ethan, his gaze unflinching, his expression unreadable.

Your voice interjects, defending the stranger against Ethan's accusation. "He's not the doer, Ethan," you say with conviction, your words carrying a note of certainty. You can feel the stranger's gaze on you, his eyes studying your reaction.

As the stranger's words linger in the air, a question forms in your mind: What is this payment the stranger is talking about? You can't help but wonder what could be his purpose behind it, and more intriguingly, his interest in you. Is he working for someone, and if so, who? The idea that your involvement might be a part of his plan sends a chill down your spine, but at the same time, there's a strange sense of anticipation that gnaws at you, an unexplainable curiosity about your role in all this.

Your mind churns with questions, your thoughts attempting to make sense of the stranger's actions. Were you simply there to ensure the bag didn't get searched, or was there a deeper purpose to his presence and connection to you? You can't help but wonder if there's more to his actions, his interest in you, and his involvement with this entire situation.

The uncertainty and the unknown fuel your curiosity, yet also stirs a sense of unease within you.

The man with the red baseball cap passes through, his bag rolling smoothly onto the conveyor belt. Ethan, his gaze fixed on the screen, seems uneasy.

You allow the bag to pass with a polite smile, wishing him a pleasant day, but underneath it all, your thoughts are consumed by the tension in the air. Your actions seem normal on the surface, but inside, you're grappling with the knowledge of what's hidden within the bag and the implications of letting it through unchecked.

"I have something stronger if you need it," A quiet, gentle voice breaks the silence, offering a solution to your headache. You look up, finding the stranger standing a short distance away, his eyes watching you intently.

Your voice carries a hint of exhaustion mixed with curiosity, your tone slightly defensive as you question him. "What do you want now?" you ask, your words carrying a mixture of weariness and intrigue.

The stranger's lips curve into a subtle smirk, his eyes seemingly studying your every reaction. He takes a step closer, his gaze unflinching, as if he can see straight through you.

The stranger's response is casual yet tinged with a subtle hint of intimacy. "Well, I was going to keep you company on your lunch," he says, his tone almost indifferent yet also carrying a touch of tenderness.

His words catch you off guard. Keeping you company is unexpected, but there's a part of you that doesn't dislike the idea. You can't deny the strange connection you feel towards him, a connection that seems to defy rationality and reason.

You question him, your words tinged with a touch of sarcasm but also tinged with a hint of challenge, "Do I have a choice?"

The stranger chuckles softly, his gaze fixed on you. He leans against the lockers, his body language casual but his eyes sharp and observant, as if he's carefully studying your response. The stranger's tone is firm and matter-of-fact as he responds with a single word. "No."

His definitive answer lingers in the air, the lack of ambiguity in his tone making it clear that he has no intention of giving you a choice in the matter. Despite his sternness, however, there's a subtle glimmer of amusement in his eyes, as if he's enjoying the subtle power dynamic at play.

Your eyes flicker with a mix of determination and a subtle challenge as you state, "You're buying."

The stranger looks at you, his smirk growing slightly as he nods in agreement. "Fair enough," he says, his tone holding a hint of amusement. It seems like he's accepting your demand, a small concession to your assertiveness.

You both sit across from each other in silent anticipation, your lunch in front of you untouched. The air between you is filled with a strange blend of curiosity and anticipation.

The stranger's gaze is fixed on you, his eyes scanning your face, studying your expression. He seems to be waiting for you to break the silence, to make the first move in this unusual lunch encounter.

You hum softly, your head tilting in a nod of acknowledgment. There's a moment of silence that follows as if both of you are gathering your thoughts. The stranger's eyes are fixed on you, his expression calm yet somewhat unreadable, as if he's trying to gauge your reaction to his cryptic statement about his occupation.

He regards you thoughtfully, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart flutter. "You can ask, you know?" he repeats, his tone a mix of curiosity and a subtle challenge.

Your eyes meet his in a silent exchange. It's as if he's inviting you to question him, to dig deeper. You can feel a strange sense of anticipation, a mix of curiosity and doubt filling your mind as you consider whether or not to press him further.

You hesitate, your words carrying a mix of uncertainty and a hint of intrigue. "I don't know if I want to," you admit, your tone tinged with a touch of wariness. The stranger's lips curve into a slight smirk, a subtle amusement in his eyes.

“If you don’t know, then I can’t do it again, and if you don’t ask, I can’t tell you.” The stranger's words hang in the air, the simplicity of them yet hinting at a deeper layer. He leaves the decision in your hands, allowing you to choose whether to pursue this deeper connection or not.

His challenge lingers, a quiet demand for you to make a choice. You're left wondering if you want to take the next step, to learn more about this mysterious stranger and his cryptic job, or if you'd rather keep the distance between you.

You admit, "I am curious, anyone would be," your words carrying a sense of vulnerability.

The stranger's eyes are on yours, his expression tinged with a hint of pride as if he's pleased with your admission. He leans forward slightly, his gaze unwavering, waiting for your next question.

The remainder of the unexpected kiss sends a shiver down your spine, the memory of his lips flooding your mind. You speak softly, your words tinged with a mix of confusion and intrigue. "You... kissed me."

The stranger doesn't respond immediately, his gaze fixed on you with a mix of amusement and anticipation. In the quiet, he waits for your next move, eager to see where this conversation leads.

Your comment hangs in the air, the weight of the moment evident in the silence that follows. The stranger's eyes hold yours, the intensity of his gaze making it clear that he's waiting for your next words, or possibly your next action.

It's almost as if the entire world has stopped, the only sound being the beating of your heart in your chest.

The stranger's lips curve into a slight smirk, his eyes never leaving yours. "Yes, I did, and you liked it," he says, his tone almost challenging, as if daring you to deny the truth in his words.

The warmth of embarrassment creeps up your cheeks, his words hitting their mark, leaving you feeling flustered. The stranger's smirk widens as he watches you, a chuckle escaping him, amused by your reaction.

He leans back in his chair, seemingly satisfied with the effect his words have had on you. For now, he enjoys the silent moment, giving you time to recompose yourself.

The question hangs in the air like a cloud of curiosity, your voice tinged with a mix of confusion and a genuine desire to understand. "Why did you?" you ask, your words holding a touch of vulnerability.

The stranger's smirk softens into a subtle smile, his eyes studying yours intently as if considering his next words. He leans forward slightly, his voice carrying a subtle edge of sincerity. "It was a moment of impulse," he admits, a hint of vulnerability peeking out from beneath his usual demeanor.

“How long have you been watching me?”

The stranger's eyes flicker with a mix of emotions, his gaze holding yours with a depth and intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. He considers your question for a moment as if assessing whether or not to be completely transparent with you.

"A while," he finally answers, his tone a mixture of honesty and mystery. He holds your gaze, waiting to see how you'll respond to this revelation.

Your question, "What's your plan here?" hangs in the air, your curiosity and uncertainty evident in your tone, “besides getting a bag in a plane.” The stranger leans back in his chair, a thoughtful look in his eyes as if pondering how much to reveal.

His response comes a moment later, his voice carrying a hint of amusement and a strange sincerity. "I'm still figuring that out," he admits, his words leaving you to wonder about his intentions and goals. “It really depends on you.”

Your question, "Me? What do I have to do with this?" echoes in the air, your curiosity and confusion evident in your voice. The stranger's expression softens, his gaze locking onto yours as if seeking understanding and cooperation.

The stranger's words, "Your answer. When this is all over I'd like to know if you'd get that dinner with me I mentioned earlier," hang lightly in the air. His tone is nonchalant as if he's simply curious about your response.

His words, though seemingly casual, carry a depth of sincerity that can't be ignored. He watches you, his eyes fixed on your face, as if waiting for an answer, or a sign that you'll accept his proposal.

“You’re going to murder 300 people and you’re asking me to dinner?” The stranger chuckles dryly at your statement, the sound a mix of amusement and acknowledgment of the absurdity of the situation. "Yes," he responds, his tone carrying a mix of sincerity and a hint of dry humor.

He seems unfazed by the contradiction as if he's fully aware of the dark nature of his actions and the paradoxical nature of his proposal. His gaze remains fixed on you, waiting for your response, the tension in the air palpable.

“Why me?”

The stranger studies you for a moment, his gaze unwavering. He seems to be searching for the right words, his expression hinting at a mix of intrigue and sincerity.

"Why not you?" he finally responds, his tone carrying a subtle mix of admiration and mystery.

The stranger's words echo in the air, the admission of knowledge about your home and personal details taking you by surprise. It's unsettling to realize that he knows so much about you, yet his expression remains calm and his tone remains casual.

The stranger's presence and the knowledge he has of you are strangely disquieting, the familiarity he shows is both intriguing and unnerving at the same same time. He seems to share some similarities with you, the revelation leaving you feeling a mixture of curiosity and caution.

“I’m going to assume you have my number.” The stranger's eyes follow you as you stand up, his gaze unwavering. Despite the mysterious aura surrounding him, his expression holds a hint of disappointment, as if he had hoped for a different response. He seems to take a moment to process your words, a mix of curiosity and contemplation evident in his eyes.

He nods slightly, acknowledging your statement, his lips curving into a slight, almost enigmatic smirk. "I do have your number," he affirms, his tone calm and almost nonchalant, hiding any deeper feelings he may have.

“Well when you get done here, see if it works. Might surprise you.”

The stranger watches you with a mix of amusement and a subtle challenge in his eyes.

Despite his confidence and power, he seems to appreciate your assertiveness and the way you hold your own.

He responds with a nod, his smirk growing slightly, his tone carrying just a hint of amusement and anticipation. "I will," he says, his words holding a subtle promise of future contact.

You walk away with a smirk, feeling the weight of the stranger's gaze on your back. The mixture of curiosity, uncertainty, and anticipation lingers in the air, leaving you with questions and a tingle down your spine.

As you leave, his eyes follow you, his gaze lingering on you, as if committing your form and your subtle smirk to memory. He seems to find your assertiveness and confidence intriguing, and a subtle smirk plays upon his lips, a mixture of respect and fascination in his gaze.

You return to your position at the checkpoint, only to find several LAPD officers filing in, their presence unexpected. Your gaze flicks to Ethan, confusion etched on your face. You ask him, "Did you say anything?" your voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of suspicion.

Ethan shakes his head in response, his eyes fixed on the officers. He seems puzzled by their arrival as much as you are, and his confusion is evident in his expression.

The announcement rings out through the checkpoint, the TSA's words echoing in the air, their message clear and firm.

The words "random bag checks" hang in the air, adding a new layer of uncertainty and anxiety to the already tense atmosphere. You watch as people react with apprehension and confusion, their eyes glancing around them in frustration, wondering if they'll be selected for a check.

Sarkowski, the supervisor, swiftly becomes flustered by the turn of events, his voice carrying a tone of urgency. "Everyone meet in the office. Right now!" he orders, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The employees scramble into action, their expressions a mix of confusion and worry. They know the importance of following Sarkowski's instructions, and they quickly gather in the office, their gazes fixed on him as they wait for further explanation.

The stranger's voice comes through your earpiece, his words carrying a tone of anticipation and a hint of tenderness. "Walk slowly, honey. I need my eyes," he murmurs, his voice a quiet but noticeable contrast to the tense atmosphere in the office. You feel a shiver run down your spine, the combination of his words and the strange tenderness in his voice causing a mix of confusion and anticipation to swirl within you.

You follow the stranger's instruction, your eyes seeking out the room on the left. Your gaze lands on a room tucked away, seemingly out of sight from the main activity.

"Alright, see that room on the left?"

You nod as you walk ensuring that you understand which room he means. Your body is tensed, your voice full of anticipation and a touch of excitement, despite the circumstances.

“Go inside,” the stranger's words a quiet command that you follow without hesitation. With a glance around to ensure no one is watching, you quietly make your way toward the room on the left. Your heart beats a little faster, a mix of anticipation and caution coursing through your veins as you approach the room.

You enter the room and close the door behind you, the sound of the lock clicking into place filling the room with a sense of privacy. As your eyes adjust to the dim lighting, you see the stranger standing there, his presence dominating the space. The room feels claustrophobic and intimate, the air between you charged with tension and anticipation.

The stranger studies you with a mixture of amusement and anticipation, his eyes flicking over your face as if taking in every detail. There's a hint of a smirk playing on his lips, and his gaze lingers on you for a moment, almost as if he's enjoying this moment of anticipation. The silence in the room is heavy, the only sound being the steady beating of your heart in your chest.

He leans closer, his body pressed close to yours. The warmth of his breath tickles your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. His words, "You're a brave woman, defying the rules just for me. I like that," send a wave of anticipation through you, and his lips brush against your ear, causing a surge of pleasure to surge through your body.

You feel trapped, the weight of his body and the closeness of his presence stirring something within you.

Your heart raced as his hand slid up your waist, his touch sending waves of heat through your body. You wanted to resist, to ask more questions, but all you could do was gasp.

"Shh," he whispered, his mouth claiming yours in a passionate kiss. His tongue danced with yours, tasting of sin and temptation. You felt his hand slip into your pants, his fingers skillfully working your wetness. You moaned into his mouth, unable to resist the pleasure he was offering.

His fingers teased your clit, circling and rubbing, driving you wild. You squirmed in your seat, desperate for more. He broke the kiss, his breath hot on your neck. "I want you, right here, right now," he growled, his voice filled with desire.

You couldn't deny the raw hunger in his words. With trembling hands, you unbuttoned your blouse, revealing your lace bra. He pulled it down, exposing your breasts. His mouth latched onto a nipple, sucking and teasing, while his fingers continued their magic between your legs.

"Oh, fuck!" you cried out, your body arching as an intense orgasm ripped through you. He didn't let up, his fingers working you relentlessly, milking every last drop of pleasure. You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as wave after wave of ecstasy washed over you.

"That's just a taste of what I can give you," he whispered, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. "But you have to be quiet." You leaned back, your body trembling. You wanted more, but you also feared the consequences. "Who are you?" you asked, your voice hoarse.

He smiled, his eyes full of mystery. "I told you, I’m just a regular guy." You couldn't shake the feeling that you had just embarked on a dangerous and exhilarating path. The man's touch, his words, and the thrill of the forbidden had awakened something primal within you. You wanted to know more, to uncover his secrets, even if it meant dancing with danger.

He presses his lips to yours, the kiss slow and sensual, leaving you with a flutter in your stomach. Then, with a subtle smirk, he buttons up your shirt, his nimble fingers working efficiently to correct your indiscretion. Once done, he unlocks the door and pushes you out.

His lips curve into a slight smile, his eyes holding a mix of amusement and affection as he watches you go. He knows he has left you with a mix of confusion, anticipation, and a lingering sense of pleasure.

You re-enter the meeting room, finding it nearly empty as the meeting appears to be over. Ethan's eyes narrow at you, his gaze intense and filled with suspicion, as if he can sense that something is off about you.

You feel the weight of his gaze on you, the suspicion in his eyes making you slightly uneasy. Despite your attempt to maintain a cool exterior, you can't help but feel slightly exposed, as if he can see right through you and detect the effects of the stranger's touch still lingering on you.

You grab your MDT and log in, your fingers moving swiftly over the keys as you access the list of people with flagged bags. As the list appears on the screen, your eyes scan the names, and you see that 50 people are marked for bag checks.

Your mind immediately switches into professional mode, the task at hand demanding your focus. You begin to navigate through the list, planning and prioritizing the checks based on your training and protocol. All bags besides the one you would make sure would board.

The woman's voice over the PA system announces the random bag checks, listing off the names of the selected passengers. Carrie Pierce, Cameron Figgs, Mateo Flores, and Alison Mallory are among those called to have their bags checked. You can't help but notice the list, the one particular names of passengers echoing in your mind. It was the associate.

You turn to Ethan, your tone tinged with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. "Ethan, what did you do?" you ask, your eyes narrowed slightly as you study his face for any signs of guilt.

He shakes his head, his response firm and defiant. "Nothing," he insists, his eyes locking onto yours as he denies any involvement. "I didn't move." He stares at you with suspicion, his gaze searching for any indication of your involvement.

"Why'd they pull my guy?" the traveler asks, a touch of impatience in his tone.

Ethan responds calmly, "It's a lottery system." His words are confident, but you can sense a hint of tension beneath the surface.

You call him out, your gaze fixed on him with a mix of suspicion. "You're lying," you assert, your voice filled with conviction.

Ethan looks at you, his eyes filled with a mix of defiance and a subtle challenge. He doesn't deny your accusation, his silence speaking louder than words.

Ethan leaves his position, his movements rushed and determined. You notice his departure, your instincts telling you that something is off. You follow him, your steps hurried and deliberate.

As you chase after him, you try to catch his attention, trying to stop him from ruining whatever plan may be in motion. You can feel the tension building, your thoughts racing as you try to anticipate his actions.

As you rush after Ethan, you feel a strong grip on your arm, a firm tug pulling you back. You turn, finding yourself pulled against the traveler's chest, his hand gently holding onto your wrist.

"Stop, stop," he whispers, his voice a gentle command that sends a shiver down your spine. His tone is both soothing and assertive, a mixture of insistence and concern.

The traveler speaks, his tone is soft but firm, his words a mix of reassurance and a request. He holds your wrist gently, his eyes searching yours, a silent plea for cooperation in his gaze.

His words, "I'll handle him, but I need you, to just go back and do your job. Can you do that for me, honey?" hang in the air, a mixture of trust and a subtle command. You can feel the weight of his request, and the implications of his words sink in.

He leans down, his lips brushing against your head as he whispers, "That's my girl. Days almost done." The words linger in the air, a mix of encouragement and something else that you can't quite place. As he pulls away, his fingers delicately removing your earpiece, you feel a strange mix of anticipation and vulnerability.

The weight of the moment lingers, his actions leaving you with a mix of anticipation and a subtle flutter in your chest.

Your thoughts, consumed by the stranger, make it increasingly challenging to maintain your professional demeanor. The anticipation of seeing him again, the concern for his safety, and the strange sense of connection you feel all swirl within you.

You can feel the effect he has on you, how he has taken over your thoughts and consumed your mind. The need to see him again grows stronger, an almost primal desire to be near him again.

A quiet, but insistent, voice breaks the silence, capturing your attention. A detective from the LAPD stands beside Sarkowski, their tone is urgent and professional. The words, "I need a line to LAX Security Tower and I need to talk to Ethan Kopek," fill the air, their gravity clear.

Sarkowski turns to you, his gaze inquisitive and expectant. "Where's Ethan?" he asks, his tone tinged with impatience and concern. You can feel the weight of their stares, their eyes fixed on you, waiting for your response.

Your mouth opens, but for a moment, no words come out. The silence stretches, as your mind struggles to find an answer, your thoughts racing to process the situation. The detective's gaze seems to intensify, her suspicion growing with each passing moment of your hesitation.

Another employee, hearing the conversation, intervenes, their tone casual and informative. "Yeah, you looking for E? He's on his way to sorting." Their words add a touch of normalcy to the tense atmosphere, though their casual tone seems mildly out of place.

The detective's gaze flicks from you to the new speaker, her suspicion shifting momentarily before returning to you. Sarkowski voices his concern, "What is he doing down there? The guy's been acting wiggly all day." The words hang in the air, a mix of confusion and suspicion.

The detective takes charge, her tone firm and authoritative. "Shut this checkpoint down now. And you," she points to you, her gaze fixed on you, "I need you to speak with you first." You feel the weight of her words, the intensity of the situation suddenly escalating. The room seems to close in, the tension palpable.

The nerves take hold, your voice a mixture of hesitation and uncertainty. "O-okay," you reply, a subtle tremble in your words. Your hands are slightly clammy, and your heart beating a little faster. Despite your attempt to remain composed, the weight of the situation and the intensity of the detective's gaze make it clear that this is far from a routine inquiry.

As you make your way down the hallway with the device, you pass the sorting area, your mind becomes consumed with a mix of worry and determination. The thought of the stranger, his face, his voice, his presence, all swirling in your mind as you desperately try to figure out a way to prevent him from getting caught.

The weight of the situation presses on you, the knowledge that something important, something significant, is at stake. It's a strange mix of emotions, the fear for his safety, the desire to keep him from harm, and the uncertainty of what you can do to help.

Your words, "Can I just make sure-" are cut off mid-sentence by the officer's firm response. "No," she says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Ethan suddenly appears, his movements swift and frantic. His eyes meet yours, a mix of desperation and urgency in them. He quickly speaks, his words tumbling out, "He still has it, he still has it!" The message hangs between the two of you, a mixture of panic and a sense of understanding passing between you.

The detective, standing nearby, watches the exchange intently. Her gaze narrows as she asks Ethan, "Are you Kopek?" Her tone is sharp, her words carrying a mix of suspicion and curiosity. She's trying to piece together the puzzle before her, her focus fixed on Ethan, waiting for his response.

Ethan's desperate plea echoes through the air, his words a mix of desperation and urgency, "I know this looks bad, but you have to let us go, I have to get to my girlfriend!" His tone is pleading, a mix of fear and anxiety lacing his voice. The detective watches as Ethan tugs at you, her expression a mixture of skepticism and anticipation, her eyes analyzing Ethan's behavior and words, trying to assess the situation.

Ethan tugs at you, his movements urgent and determined, pulling you down the hall. As he speaks, his words carry a sense of urgency, his tone conveying the gravity of the situation. "He's trying to take out Northwind 1850. All passengers," he informs you, his voice carrying a mixture of concern and urgency.

The thought of the stranger's safety, his fate hanging in the balance, and the potential consequences of your actions feel immense. It's a moment of deep contemplation, and the choice you make could have far-reaching consequences.

Ethan instructs you to stay with Nora, his voice carrying a tone of urgency and importance. "Stay with Nora," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. The responsibility of protecting her, of ensuring her safety, adds another layer of weight to your already stressful situation. You nod in agreement, your mind now divided between protecting Nora and ensuring the stranger's safety.

Ethan quickly boards the plane, his eyes scanning the bags, a mixture of urgency and determination in his gaze. He searches through the bags, his movements efficient and focused, until he finally finds the bomb amongst the other bags. The discovery solidifies the gravity of the situation, the threat of the bomb now out in the open, its presence a grim reality.

As Ethan tries to disarm the bomb, another man, a stranger in a black cap, suddenly calls out, "So you're Ethan!"

The unexpected voice, the man in the black cap, catches Ethan off guard. The sudden appearance and the question add an element of confusion to the already tense situation, the stranger's identity and intentions still unknown. The man in the black cap, though different from the stranger you encountered earlier, seems just as determined to ensure the bomb's mission is carried out. He appears ready to sacrifice himself if necessary, a grim resolve in his eyes. The knowledge of this adds a new layer of urgency and danger to the situation, as you realize the extent to which the attackers are willing to go.

Ethan, with a mix of determination and resourcefulness, manages to fight for his life and save the entire plane. He seals the bomb and the associate in a vacuum chamber, a desperate act that ultimately results in the death of the associate and the neutralization of the threat.

The danger is averted, the bomb's threat contained, but the price for Ethan's victory is steep, leaving the weight of the situation and its consequences hanging heavily in the air.

You tell the police your story, sharing the events of the day and the manipulation you faced. You're cooperative, sharing all they wanted to know, the words flowing out of you.

Even as you speak, a sense of loss weighs on you, the realization that you may never see the stranger again settling in your chest. Despite the danger and uncertainty of the situation, a part of you feels strangely drawn to the stranger, his presence and words lingering in your mind.

A part of you entertains the idea that the stranger was right, that if you truly wanted to, you could forget him, erasing his presence from your thoughts and memory.

Your life's trajectory has shifted, moving in a direction that you never anticipated, but that you've worked hard for. Your family visits for the holidays, their gratitude and appreciation for you leaving a warmth in your soul that you'll never forget.

The local news station reaching out to invite you for an exclusive interview is the spark that ignites a fire within you, leading to a string of phone calls and auditions. Finally, your father secures you a genuine agent, and you land your first major role in a movie, a dream that you've been chasing for years.

As each day passes, you find yourself constantly glancing around corners, half-expecting to see the stranger lurking there. The anticipation lingers, a subtle undercurrent in your daily routine, but the stranger never appears, the corner remaining empty.

Weeks turn into months, and the memory of his presence, his words, and his actions begin to gradually fade, the intensity of your expectation slowly waning with each passing moment.

You return to your new house, a cozy home nestled in the picturesque hills of California. The house is a testament to your success, a symbol of all you have achieved since that fateful day at the airport. Yet, as you step into the quiet solitude of your home, a strange sense of loneliness lingers in the air.

A mix of shock and disbelief washes over you as you enter your bedroom and flip on the light, finding a man sitting in the chair across from your bed. But it's not just any stranger - it's the stranger you've been unable to forget.

Your heart skips a beat, the surprise making your breath catch in your throat. You stand there, frozen in place, your mind struggling to comprehend his sudden presence in your most private space.

His voice cuts through the stillness of the room, the words carrying a mixture of accusation and nostalgia. "You changed your number," he says, his tone a blend of disappointment and understanding.

The words make your heart skip a beat, the weight of his statement hanging in the air between the two of you. You feel exposed as if he's laid bare your attempts to move on, to forget him, and yet he doesn't seem overly upset by it.

You respond, your tone is defensive and slightly sheepish. "I had to," you say, the words carrying a hint of regret and a touch of guilt.

The truth is, you had changed your number for your own sanity, as a way to distance yourself from the memories and feelings that he brought up within you. Yet, now that he's here, you realize that a part of you never truly let go.

He stands from the chair, his movements are deliberate and measured as he closes the distance between you. Each step brings him closer, the anticipation growing with each passing moment, your mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

As he approaches, you can almost feel the heat radiating from his body, his presence commanding your attention, his gaze never leaving yours.

"Surprised to see me?" he asked, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. His brown hair, shorter now, still slightly disheveled, framed his handsome face. You couldn't help but notice the way his eyes seemed to devour you as if he was seeing you for the first time, yet with an intimate knowledge that made your cheeks flush.

"What are you doing here?" you managed to stammer, your voice barely audible. You had changed your name, moved cities, and started a new life to escape him. But here he was, proving that his infatuation knew no bounds.

"I've been looking for you," he said, taking a step closer. His presence was overwhelming, and you felt a strange mix of fear and excitement. "Never got my answer on that dinner."

You took a cautious step back, your heart racing. The last time you were together, things had ended abruptly, leaving you with a mix of emotions. He had been possessive, and controlling, but there was an undeniable passion that kept you entangled in his web.

"I... I don't understand," you whispered, your eyes darting around, searching for an escape route. "How did you find me?"

He chuckled a deep, throaty sound that sent a pleasurable tingle down your body. "I've been keeping a close eye on you, waiting for the right time."

His words sent a chill down your spine. You remembered the countless nights you woke up to his intense gaze through your bedroom window. The flowers you'd find on your doorstep, with no note, but you knew they were from him. The feeling of being watched, and followed, had become a constant in your life.

"You can't just show up like this," you protested, though your voice lacked conviction. A part of you was intrigued, drawn to the intensity of his desire. "I have a life here, a career..."

"And I intend to be a part of it," he interrupted his voice firm yet laced with a hint of desperation. "I won't let you slip away again."

As he spoke, his eyes trailed down your body, taking in your curves, the soft swell of your breasts beneath your thin blouse. You felt exposed and vulnerable, yet a tingling warmth between your thighs betrayed your unease. His desire was palpable, and it awakened something primal within you.

"You know you want me too," he whispered, taking another step forward, closing the distance between you. "You've always had. From the first time, I whispered in your ear, you wanted me.”

His words were like a spell, breaking down your defenses.

"I..." You trailed off, your eyes searching his, trying to find the strength to resist. But his gaze held you captive, and you found yourself taking a step forward, closing the gap between you.

"That's it," he murmured, his hands reaching out to cup your face. His touch was electric, sending sparks of desire coursing through your veins.

His lips crashed down on yours, hungry and demanding. You melted into the kiss, your initial resistance fading as his tongue danced with yours. His hands traveled down your body, molding your curves, igniting a fire that had been smoldering for far too long.

He pushed you against the wall, his body pressing into yours, and you could feel his hardness through his pants. His kisses trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of fire, as his hands skillfully unbuttoned your blouse, exposing your heaving breasts.

"Oh, I've dreamed of this," he growled, his hot breath sending shivers across your sensitive skin. His mouth captured a taut nipple, sucking and teasing, while his hands worked their magic lower, sliding beneath your skirt.

Your breath caught as his fingers found the damp silk of your panties, stroking the sensitive folds of your pussy. You were already soaked, your body betraying your attempts at resistance. He knew how to touch you, how to drive you wild, and he took his time, building the anticipation.

"Please," you whispered, your head thrown back, as his fingers teased your clit, bringing you to the edge. "I need you..."

He chuckled against your skin, his breath hot and raspy. "Not yet, honey. I want to savor every moment."

His fingers delved deeper, sliding inside your wetness, stretching and filling you. You moaned, your hips thrusting involuntarily, seeking more of his touch. He added another finger, curling them, hitting that sweet spot that had you seeing stars.

"That's it, let go," he urged, his voice hoarse with desire. "Come for me, my beautiful girl."

His thumb circled your clit, applying just the right pressure, and you shattered around his fingers, crying out his name. The orgasm ripped through you, leaving you trembling and boneless against the wall.

But he wasn't done with you yet. He lifted you into his arms, carrying you to the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. He laid you down on the bed, his gaze burning with intensity as he stripped off his clothes.

"You're stunning," he whispered, his eyes raking over your naked body. "Every inch of you is perfection."

He joined you on the bed, his body covering yours, his lips claiming yours once more. His kisses were feverish, desperate as if he couldn't get enough. His hands roamed freely, exploring every inch of your body, reacquainting himself with your curves and valleys. "I need to be inside you, to feel you around me."

You arched your back, offering yourself to him, your hands tugging at his hair, urging him closer. He positioned himself at your entrance, his hardness pressing against your wetness, and slowly, he began to fill you.

The sensation was exquisite, his thick length stretching you, filling a void you didn't realize existed until that moment. He thrust slowly at first, giving you time to adjust to his size, but soon his movements became more urgent, driven by the heat between you.

"Yes, fuck, yes!" you cried out, meeting his thrusts, your nails digging into his back. The pleasure was intense, overwhelming, as he hit all the right spots, sending waves of ecstasy through your body.

He leaned down, capturing a nipple in his mouth, sucking and biting gently as he pounded into you, driving you higher. Your cries filled the room, a mixture of pleasure and surprise as he took you to heights you'd forgotten existed.

"I'm close," you gasped, your body tightening around him, seeking release. "Oh God, I'm so close..."

He increased his pace, his hips slamming into yours, his breath hot against your neck. "Come for me. Let me feel you."

His words were like a trigger, and you exploded around him, your pussy clenching and milking his shaft as you rode out your orgasm. He followed soon after, his body tensing, as he filled you with his hot release, groaning your name.

As your heart rate slowed, he collapsed onto the bed beside you, pulling you close, his arms possessive around your waist. You lay there, breathless, your bodies glistening with sweat, and you couldn't help but wonder what the future held now that he had found you again.

Random detail, RP wise my Druid is married to Ragnar though, it's an open relationship, she knows the love of his life is Athelstan. Historians will say they're best friends 😑