Cyrus set his phone aside. He retrieved a cashmere throw from an overhead compartment.
"Sleep." Cyrus draped the blanket over Kane's shoulders. "The flight will take several hours."
Kane's protest died as Cyrus's fingers brushed his temple, crimson energy pulsing warm against his skin. The headache evaporated.
"Show-off," Kane mumbled, already drowsy.
Cyrus pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Rest."
The egg case slipped from Kane's lap as sleep claimed him. Cyrus caught it with supernatural reflexes, securing it in the padded seat beside Kane before adjusting the blanket higher.
Kane woke to the whine of landing gear deploying.
He blinked sleep from his eyes, finding Cyrus reading beside him, one hand resting possessively on Kane's knee.
"We're descending," Cyrus said without looking up.
Kane pressed his face to the window. His breath fogged the glass.
The flight took them south, far beyond continental borders—where volcanic archipelagos hid from satellite maps.
