They stepped off the jet bridge at Newark, the stale airport air greeting them like a pause between songs, heavy with the tang of recycled metal and distant perfume. Two hours stretched before their final flight, time to savor the quiet before the next adventure. Ryder’s hand found Isobel’s without thought, fingers lacing naturally, the warmth of her skin grounding him in a way no skyline or roar of a crowd ever could.

“Want to grab a bite?” His voice carried that soft Tennessee drawl, ...