Sage feels my concern just as the attendant reaches me.

"Can I help you?" She's trying to be polite, but it's obvious she'd rather kick me off the plane. I look up at her, still in shock, and hold out the card.

"He's starving," I say, my American accent slipping a moment. "Whatever you have with meat in it."

She frowns, about to argue.

"I know we're supposed to wait for the cart," I say. "But please. ...