Subject: Meeting Tonight
From: Blue [email protected] To: Dr. Victor Frank [email protected]
Date: Sun, 3 Feb 2044 06:45:42 AM (GMT+01:00)
Dear Victor,
I appreciate your willingness to engage in this endeavor. Let's meet tonight.
Meeting Details: Date: Tonight Time: 8:00 PM Location: Serenity Heights Hotel
You'll find me in the restaurant, we'll grab some dinner, so dress your best Dr.
Warm regards,
Blue
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Dr. Victor Frank was dressed in a tailored charcoal-gray suit, its fine wool fabric hinting at both professionalism and understated elegance. His crisp white shirt was neatly buttoned, and a midnight-blue bow tie. He stood at the threshold of his home, a brief hesitation washing over him as he reached for the door handle. This was the last barrier between the safety of his sanctuary and the uncertainty that lay beyond. With a deep breath, he stepped out into the cool evening air, locking the door behind him.
He walked to his car; each step resolute yet heavy with the weight of his decision. Unlocking the door, he climbed inside, the familiar scent of the interior wrapping around him.
As he drove, the familiar streets seemed to transform before him. What was once a mundane route now felt like a passage to a new chapter of his life. The city lights blurred into streaks of color as he navigated through the traffic, his mind as much on the road as on the task ahead.
The Serenity Heights Hotel loomed in the distance. Victor's grip on the steering wheel tightened as he approached, his heart rate accelerating with anticipation and anxiety.
He parked in a secluded spot at the back of the hotel's lot. Victor took a moment to collect himself, steady his breathing and calm his racing thoughts.
With one last look in the rearview mirror, he stepped out of the car and made his way to the hotel's side entrance—an unremarkable door that belied the significance of what was to come.
Victor's footsteps echoed softly on the concrete as he left the parking lot behind, his silhouette a solitary figure against the backdrop of the hotel's grand architecture
Victor entered the hotel, he emerged into the grandeur of the hotel's reception area, a space that exuded an air of quiet luxury. The marble floors gleamed under the chandeliers' soft glow, and the air carried a faint scent of jasmine. The Larder Restaurant & Terrace hummed with subdued conversations. Victor's presence went largely unnoticed by the few guests who milled about, their attention captured by their own affairs.
With a nod to the receptionist, who returned it with a practiced smile, Victor made his way to the hotel's restaurant. The concierge, a composed figure in a tailored suit, acknowledged him with a subtle nod as he approached.
"Good evening," Victor greeted warmly, extending his hand. "Dr. Frank. I believe my reservation is under that name."
"Welcome, Dr. Frank," the concierge said, his voice a low murmur. "Your reservation is confirmed. Please go ahead."
The muted sounds of conversation and clinking cutlery grew louder as he approached, a symphony of evening dining.
The restaurant was an elegant room with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered views of the city's twinkling lights. A sanctuary of dimly lit alcoves and linen-draped tables. Tables were set with precision, each with its own candle flickering like a tiny star.
Victor scanned the room, seeking the woman with bright blue hair. And there she was, seated by the window her eyes a shade deeper than her hair. She was seated at a table in a secluded corner, her back to the wall, a position that allowed her to see everything and everyone. She wore a midnight-blue silk blouse, its fabric catching the candlelight in subtle ripples. The collar was high, framing her neck, and the sleeves tapered to her wrists. A silver pendant hung from a delicate chain, nestled against the fabric. Her tailored black trousers flowed gracefully, hinting at a figure that balanced strength and grace. On her feet were low-heeled ankle boots, their dark leather polished to a soft sheen. Blue's hair, which stopped at her neck, was a bright blue a vivid contrast against her attire
He adjusted his bow tie and approached his resolve firming with each step. Blue looked up as he arrived, her eyes locking onto his with an intensity that acknowledged the gravity of their meeting. Her eyes held a depth—a knowledge—that made Victor wonder how many lifetimes she'd lived.
Blue rose as he approached; her smile enigmatic. "Victor," she said, extending her hand. "I'm glad you received my email."
Victor took his seat across from her, the finality of his journey settling in. "Let's get down to business," he said.
As they sat across from each other, the clatter of the restaurant around them, Victor and Blue leaned in, their conversation a hushed exchange against the ambient noise.
Victor started, his voice low, "Are we certain the security at Lord Harrington’s castle won't be an issue?"
Blue's eyes were steady, "I've studied their security system and their patterns. There's a window of opportunity that we can exploit. But it's narrow.”
“And I have an ace up my sleeve." She said a slight smile gracing her lips.”
“What’s the ace?” Victor asked his curiosity piqued.
“All the answers will come in due time Victor, for now trust that I have done my due diligence.” She said cryptically.
The waiter approached, a practiced smile on his lips. "Good evening, sir, madam," he said. "May I take your order?"
Victor hesitated, it was the first time he had been to a hotel of this caliber in his life, and he hadn’t even looked at the menu. Blue leaned back, her fingers tracing the rim of her wine glass. "I'll have the grilled tilapia," she said, her voice low and measured. "And a side of steamed vegetables."
"I'll have the same," he replied, his gaze never leaving Blue's face. "And a glass of red wine." The waiter nodded, scribbling down their choices.
Victor frowned, "And the artifact? If it's as well-guarded as you say..."
She cut him off she said a slight frustration in her voice, "It is. But I have…a way inside."
The waiter returned with a bottle of wine and a glass. He set it down on the table and poured the glass for Victor. He set the bottle down and retreated.
Victor's hand tightened around his glass, "This is risky. If we're caught—"
Blue interjected firmly, "We won't be. I've planned for every contingency."
Victor sighed, "I just... I can't afford any mistakes. Not after everything that's happened."
Blue reached across the table, her hand briefly covering his, "You have my word. We'll succeed." Their eyes locked, a silent pact made in the flickering candlelight.
The waiter returned, balancing a silver tray with practiced elegance. The grilled tilapia lay nestled on a bed of steamed vegetables, vibrant hues contrasting against the pristine white porcelain. Blue's wine glass sparkled, its crimson contents catching the ambient light. Victor's own plate mirrored hers, the aroma of herbs and charred fish mingling in the air. The waiter's eyes flickered between them; curiosity veiled by professionalism. "Bon appétit," he murmured, then retreated. Victor nodded slowly. And they dug into their meal.
“So, if you’re so prepared what do you need from me, an amateur?” he asked.
She hesitated but said, “I just needed a partner, someone as invested in the phoenix as I am. This is personal for you; you’ll do anything to get your daughter back. I’ll do anything to get to the Phoenix.”
Victor kept his steely gaze on her.
“It doesn’t hurt that you’re also a genius,” she added.
Victor blushed a little at that and she smiled but his gaze remained steady on hers, “Why? Why are you so invested in finding the Phoenix?”
For a second Blue averted her gaze to the floor but met Victor’s eyes again, in silence. Victor nodded slowly, his gaze unflinching.
The waiter approached their table with a deferential nod. "Good evening," he murmured, his voice a velvet whisper. "May I present your bill?" The leather-bound folder appeared, its gold embossing catching the ambient light. Blue’s fingers brushed the folder, her expression unreadable. “Thank you,” she said, her tone as measured." "Would you like anything else?" asked the waiter, "No we're fine thank you," said Blue. “Certainly,” he replied, his voice a velvet whisper. “Should you require anything else, please don’t hesitate to ask.
Blue let out a deep breath, "Let's continue this upstairs," she said.
They rose from their table, their movements synchronized and discreet, designed not to draw attention.
They navigated through the restaurant with an air of casual departure, exchanging pleasantries with the staff as they passed. Once out of the dining area, they made their way to the elevators, Blue reached out and pushed the button for her floor. The elevator doors opened, and they stepped inside, their expressions shifting from the polite masks worn for the public to serious visages.
The elevator ride was a silent ascent, filled with the weight of unspoken thoughts and plans. The soft hum of the machinery was the only sound as they climbed higher into the hotel's heart.
Exiting onto Blue's floor, they walked down a plushily carpeted hallway, the walls adorned with tasteful artwork that seemed to watch them pass. Blue led Victor to her room, a key card granting them entry into her temporary sanctuary.
The hotel room was a cocoon of muted luxury. Blue led Victor past the threshold, the door closing with a soft click. Once inside, Blue secured the door and crossing the room drew the curtains closed, ensuring complete privacy. The room was a blend of comfort and functionality, with a workspace that hinted at long hours spent in preparation.
"Please, have a seat," Blue said, gesturing toward the armchairs by the window. Victor walked across the room and sank into one, the upholstery cradling him.
Blue moved to the small kitchenette, her movements fluid. She filled the kettle with water, the sound echoing in the silence. "Coffee?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder.
"Yes," Victor replied, his voice barely audible. He watched as she measured coffee grounds into a French press. He caught a glimpse of a scar on her neck that peeked out from the collar of her blouse—a map of untold battles fought in the pages of her history. He hadn’t noticed it until now. Victor made a mental note about it.
When the water had boiled, Blue poured it over the coffee, her gaze never leaving Victor. Steam rose from the French press, carrying the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee. She poured them each a cup. She took a tentative sip and gave a slight nod.
Blue walked over to where Victor was seated and handed him a steaming mug, the rich aroma filling the room. "Here you go," she said, settling into the adjacent armchair with her own cup. There was a small table between them, a surface now cleared for documents and devices.
Victor took the mug, feeling the warmth seep into his fingers. He raised it to his lips and took a tentative sip. The coffee was strong, its bitterness tempered by a hint of something sweet and elusive. He let the warmth spread through him.
Blue watched him over the rim of her cup, her eyes calm and thoughtful.
Victor leaned forward, his focus absolute. "All right," he said in a hushed tone. "Tell me everything."
Blue leaned in, her voice a low murmur. "The man we're interested in Lord Albus Harrington is hosting a black-tie dinner party. As I’ve mentioned before he's a collector, a man with a penchant for the esoteric and the extraordinary. What we seek is held in his vault.”
Victor nodded, taking another sip his eyes narrowed. "Tell me about the dinner party?"
"The event is being held two weeks from now," Blue replied. "It's an exclusive affair, attended by the world's elite. We'll need to blend in, play our parts flawlessly."
“You said Wales?” Victor asked.
“Yes.” She replied, “I have a safe house there, it will be our base of operation throughout the heist.”
Victor nodded, "What about the form do we just bring it along?" he asked, his voice catching.
Blue's expression softened. "We leave the form behind," she said. "Once we have the artifact, we'll return for her."
He sighed deeply, "Okay," Victor said, his resolve firm. "We'll retrieve the artifact, then return."
“You’ll need to pack light. Essentials only.” Blue continued.
“So how do you intend to get us there?” Victor asked.
“We'll be using my private plane.” She answered nonchalantly.
Victor raised an eyebrow. "Private plane?"
“I did say your travel arrangements would be taken care of. You’ll see.” She said.
“Okay,” Victor said.
They continued to sip their coffee observing each other.
“You still haven’t answered my question, Ms. Blue.”
She stiffened slightly, “Why?” he asked again. But she did not answer him.
After his coffee cup drained and the answer not forthcoming, Victor stood up, taking one last look at Blue, and began heading for the door, Blue watched him with a thoughtful expression. Just as he reached the door, she called out to him.
"Victor,"
He turned back to face her, his hand resting on the doorknob.
Blue's eyes softened, and for a moment, the hard edge of determination gave way to something more tender, "You're not alone in this,” she said quietly, “No matter what happens, we're in this together. I need you to trust me, okay?"
Victor nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Goodnight, Ms. Blue."
She nodded. "Stay safe, we'll meet at Wilson airport tomorrow morning. I’ll see you there."
With a final glance, Victor opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. The door closed behind him.
The corridors of the Nairobi Serena Hotel enveloped him in a warm, humid embrace. Echoing with hushed conversations and the soft rustle of guests returning to their rooms. He made his way to the elevator doors and pushed the button for the lobby. He adjusted the collar of his suit, the fabric clinging to his skin, as he glanced at his reflection in the polished brass of the doors. His eyes, once vibrant, now held shadows of grief. The doors opened as he stepped into the elevator the sounds blurred into the background.
The hotel lobby, adorned with African art and lush greenery, welcomed him. The concierge nodded respectfully, and Victor strode past the grand piano, its ivory keys untouched.
He exited the elegant hotel, the warm lobby air yielding to the night’s cool atmosphere as he stepped outside. Victor strode purposefully towards his waiting car, unlocking it with a click, and settling into the familiar leather seat. With a confident turn of the key, the engine hummed to life, and he merged onto the bustling Nairobi streets, where the rhythm of traffic and the kaleidoscope of sounds and sights enveloped him.
The city's heartbeat pulsed through the streets. Nairobi was a symphony of car horns, street vendors, and laughter. The city lights blurred as he drove through the city streets. Neon signs flickered, casting patterns on the sidewalks.
At the intersection near City Market, Victor's thoughts shifted to Blue. Her intelligence, her secrets, now a private plane. Was she a scientist or something more? He recalled their conversation at the resort. The Phoenix—the key to his daughter's resurrection—loomed large in his mind.
Finally, he reached his home—the bungalow tucked away in his quiet neighborhood. The garden, once vibrant, now whispered memories of family picnics and bedtime stories beneath a starlit sky. A garden that had witnessed the passage of time. Once a tapestry of vibrant blooms and lush greenery was now dead and faded, each flower bed and winding path seemed to echo with memories etched in every withered petal and moss-covered stone, a testament to the cherished moments that had once filled these hallowed grounds.
Stepping out of his car, Victor paused to inhale the familiar scent of his neighborhood—a blend of freshly cut grass and distant woodsmoke that carried memories of seasons past. The evening air was crisp, wrapping around him as he closed the car door with a soft click.
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The path to his front door, lined with overgrown hedges guided him forward. The crunch of gravel beneath his shoes punctuated the stillness of the night.
As he ascended, the weathered wooden steps leading to his bungalow's entrance. Victor pushed open the door, its hinges creaking softly in protest, echoing the passage of time. The air inside was stale, tinged with the scent of neglect.
Entering, Victor was met with the sight of his home, frozen in a state of disarray much as he had left it. The living room, once a cozy retreat with its overstuffed armchairs and book-lined shelves, now lay cloaked in a thin layer of dust. Cobwebs draped elegantly from corners and light fixtures.
His footsteps echoed softly as he moved further into the space, each sound punctuating the silence that enveloped him. The kitchen, usually a place of warmth and aroma, now held only the faint memory of meals long past, the countertops obscured beneath a veil of grime, the sink full of neglected dishes.
He made his way to the back room and opened the door stepping inside. His makeshift workshop was laid out before him.
Victor moved methodically through the space; each movement deliberate yet tinged with a quiet urgency. With practiced hands, he covered his tools and equipment with sheets—starting with the computer station. The metal cabinet, its drawers filled with meticulously organized components, and the adjacent locker, housing prototypes and valuable materials, were enveloped in protective layers.
Next, he tended to the 3D printer, shrouding it under a cloth barrier. Victor paused at the VMC milling machine, covered it with a sheet, and ensured it was securely protected. He also took care to shield the Wire EDM machine, a tool crucial for cutting intricate shapes and profiles in stainless steel with high accuracy. Its capabilities in creating precise spherical surfaces and intricate details for joints were indispensable for the construction of lifelike prosthetic components.
Nearby, he stowed away a handheld spray coater, his heat gun, his precision screwdrivers, his calipers for accurate measurements, tweezers and pliers for handling small components, a multimeter for electrical testing, and a magnifying glass for inspecting fine details. He also stowed away a crucible, which he had used for making ruby flux mixtures and silica melt.
At the center of the room, the humanoid form rested. Victor approached it with a mix of reverence and sorrow, gently wrapping it in a shroud.
Lastly, Victor secured the wand inside his safe. As he completed his task, the workshop seemed to hold its breath like a sanctuary frozen in time.
Victor trudged up the creaking stairs to his dimly lit bedroom, the weight of the impending journey settling upon him. The air hung thick with the scent of aged cedar and a million bittersweet memories. Time had woven its tapestry here, a vibrant collage of joy and sorrow etched into the very walls. The city's distant lights filtered through the dusty curtains, casting long skeletal shadows on the floor.
Victor surveyed the room with a sigh, he started by clearing the clothes strewn across the floor, folding and placing them neatly on the bed. Empty bottles cluttered the nightstand; he gathered them in a garbage bag and disposed of them in the recycling bin, their clinking a reminder of nights spent trying to block out the memories. Papers lay scattered about, each a fragment of his restless thoughts; he stacked them into neat piles on the bedside table.
He flung open the closet. The suitcase lay there, half-filled with essentials—clothes, toiletries, travel essentials. He packed his clothes into his leather satchel. He was still grappling with the decision to leave the humanoid form behind, but he continued packing making sure to pack only his essentials. Lastly, he folded a worn photograph—the last image of his daughter, her smile frozen in time—into the inner pocket of his coat.
But a deeper weight settled in his gut, a churning mass of doubt and apprehension. The artifact, the Phoenix, whispered promises of reunion, and he wondered if it really held answers about life, death, and the boundaries between them.
He zipped up the suitcase, the metallic teeth sealing his determination a firm echo of his resolve.
The photos on the dresser held him captive, he sat there staring at them.
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Miranda, smiled at him—a sunflower in a field of gray. His hands trembled as he reached for the photo. Her laughter echoed in the room, a melody he'd almost forgotten. They'd met during their university days, both of them passionate about unraveling the mysteries of life. She'd been the one who encouraged his research, and when she’d said yes, he could hardly believe it,
“Are you sure?” he asked
“Of course, I’m sure. What!?” she said as she hugged him. While she was still in his embrace, he picked her up and twirled her around, and everyone at Uhuru Park that day began to clap and whistle and cheer. He set her down and he took her hand in his and placed the engagement ring on her finger and she kissed him.
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He sat back on the bed, cradling the photo in his hands, tears welling up in his eyes.
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The plane was a Piper M700, it stood on the airstrip tarmac—a sleek marvel of engineering that defied convention. Its fuselage gleamed under the sunlight, and its wings stretched out.
Victor, stood staring mouth slightly agape. As she approached the plane Blue passed him by, seeing his open mouth, she pushed it up, shutting it for him. “C’mon Dr. we have a dinner party to attend,” she said cheekily.
Blue, wore a midnight-blue scarf, its fabric soft against her skin, concealing the scar. She wore a black top and black cargo pants. Her boots, practical yet elegant, bore traces of desert sand and city grime.
The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue over the airstrip. Dr. Victor Frank and Blue loaded their luggage into the sleek Piper M700. Blue's movements were precise and efficient. Victor handed her a sturdy black duffel bag and she secured it in the cargo hold. Victor recognized the bag—it contained the delicate tools and components needed for their mission. His own bag, a weathered leather satchel went in next, Blue’s own bag a leather black duffel bag was the first to go in.
Victor handed her the last of the bags, and as she fitted them into the cargo hold, Dr. Victor Frank turned back to face Wilson Airport and the city beyond it. He thought about the form back home and wondered what lay ahead. As the last bag disappeared into the Piper's belly, and the cargo hold was secure, Blue made one last check around the plane. She turned to Victor, as she stood by the plane's open door, her eyes assessing him.
"Ready for this?" she asked.
He nodded, his heart racing. "As ready as I'll ever be." He said turning to face her,
“Last chance to turn back,” she said looking away from him before finally meeting his eyes again.
“No, I’ve made up my mind,” Victor said a slight smile gracing his features.
Blue stepped closer her eyes softening, she reached out and placed her hand on his elbow, "Victor, we will return, I promise." He nodded almost imperceptibly.
"Now let's get ready for takeoff," she announced, her voice steady. "Destination: Wales."
As they stepped into the Piper, its interior welcomed them with plush leather seats and polished wood accents. Victor climbed aboard and settled into one, the plushy leather seat cradling him.
Blue settled into the pilot seat of the Piper M700, her eyes focused and determined. The cockpit enveloped her—a symphony of dials, switches, and glowing screens. Her gloved hands danced across the controls, fingers tracing familiar paths. The sun's warmth filtered through the windshield, casting a soft glow on her features. Victor buckled his seatbelt; he watched as Blue's hands moved with precision. His gaze fixed on Blue's hands—their deftness, their grace. She adjusted the dials and levers, her touch deliberate.
As her gloved hand moved to the overhead panel. She flipped the master switch, illuminating the instrument panel and the avionics hummed to life.
Blue reached for the fuel selector valve and toggled it to the "Both" position, ensuring both fuel tanks fed into the engine.
The hum of the engines vibrating through the floor. Blue adjusted the throttle lever, setting it to idle. The engine's growl softened, waiting for her command.
Her fingers found the mixture control knob, turning it to "Rich" for optimal fuel-air combustion
Her fingers found the propeller control lever. She pushed it forward, blades spinning faster and faster, slicing through the air. The Piper quivered, eager—a promise of lift.
Two red switches sat on the lower panel. Blue toggled them—one for each magneto. The engine coughed, then settled into a steady rhythm.
She extended the flaps to the takeoff position. The wind whispered through the gaps, promising lift.
Blue dialed the radio frequencies—tower, ground, and weather. Her voice crackled over the headset, precise and professional.
A final check. She pressed the toe brakes, feeling the resistance. The Piper strained against restraint.
He'd read manuals, and studied diagrams, but this—this was mastery—the throttle, the mixture control, the propeller lever. She danced with the Piper M700 as if it were an extension of her own body. This was an orchestra and Blue was the conductor.
"Control tower," Blue's voice crackled over the radio, her tone crisp and professional. "This is Blue Sprite ready for taxi. Over."
The response came promptly, a calm male voice guiding her. "Blue Sprite, you are cleared for taxi. Proceed to runway two-niner."
With a gentle push on the throttle, the Piper M700 surged forward. The plane taxied down the runway, its engine roaring to life.
Blue adjusted her headset, her fingers brushing the worn leather of the control yoke. The cockpit hummed with anticipation—the Blue Sprite, stood poised on Runway 29. The sun dipped low, casting a golden glow over the tarmac.
“Tower, this is Blue Sprite. Ready for takeoff on Runway 29.”
"Blue Sprite, Tower," crackled the radio. "Cleared for takeoff on Runway 29. Wind 240 degrees at 10 knots."
Victor's heart raced. He glanced at her She met his gaze, determination burning bright, and nodded. The engine roared, and Blue Sprite surged forward, hurtling down the runway The runway stretched ahead, a ribbon of promise. She pulled back gently, feeling the familiar lift as the nose wheel left the ground.
"Maintain runway heading," the Tower instructed. "Contact Departure on 121.8."
"Roger," Blue acknowledged, her gaze flickering to the runway beyond.
The tarmac blurred. Victor gripped the armrest, his knuckles turned white against the armrest.
As they neared the runway's edge, Blue's grip tightened. Victor whispered a silent prayer as the world beyond the cockpit stretched wide— Earth surrendered, and the sky welcomed them. The wheels left the ground, and a surge of exhilaration swept through Victor as the plane soared into the sky The sensation was primal and transcendent. The runway fell away, and gravity relinquished its grip. The world tilted, and suddenly, they were weightless—the vessel ascending into the vast blue expanse.
The engine's hum intensified, vibrating through the airframe. Blue's hands adjusted the yoke, coaxing the Piper upward.
"Control tower, this is Blue Sprite. We are airborne and proceeding on course. Thank you for your assistance. Over."
The response crackled through the radio, a reassuring confirmation: "Blue Sprite, safe travels. Clear skies ahead. Over."
Blue adjusted the altitude, the horizon stretching before her. Blue stole a glance at the horizon. Nairobi's skyline vanished, swallowed by clouds. Blue adjusted the plane's heading, the horizon stretching wide.
Victor glanced out the window, leaning in close to the window, his breath fogging the glass.
The Blue Sprite climbed, leaving Nairobi behind, replaced by the vast expanse of Kenya's landscape. The cityscape blurred below—the skyscrapers, the winding river. The patchwork of fields unfolded—a quilt of emerald green and russet brown, the winding rivers, and the distant hills blurred together, the Great Rift Valley yawned, its ancient scars etched into the earth. The sun painted the landscape in warm hues—the acacia trees casting elongated shadows, the rivers winding like silver threads.
The plane cut through the air, its wings slicing the invisible fabric of the sky. He glanced at Blue; her profile resolute against the azure sky.
As the plane climbed, he wondered about leaving it all behind, about leaving behind the familiar and hurtling toward the unknown, about a private plane, flown by a lady with blue hair to the European peninsula with a Nairobi university lecturer in its passenger seat.
As the Piper ascended, and as the land stretched beneath them, Victor closed his eyes, feeling the pull of adventure and the weight of loss. Kenya's vastness cradled him, and for a fleeting moment, he was weightless, suspended between heaven and earth.
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