SERAPHINA'S POINT OF VIEW.

The private jet hummed softly beneath my red bottom heels, a constant reminder of why I was heading this way. I sat cross-legged on the leather seat, looked out the tinted window, and stared at my reflection as the clouds moved past.

I looked just as I was trained to be: perfectly composed and untouchable.

The crest of the uniform, neatly folded in my open luggage, stared me in the face, acting like some weight as I fought the urge to shred the damn thing to pieces. ...