Clara wrapped both hands around the warm paper cup, taking a slow sip, desperate to clear the toxic tension from her mind. The coffee was hot, but it did nothing to melt the sudden chill that had settled over her row.
She stared straight ahead, trying not to look back toward the galley, but the silence in the cabin suddenly felt incredibly heavy. Every little sound—the clink of ice cubes a few rows ahead, the low murmur of a movie playing on someone’s tablet—felt amplified, distorted by her own growing anxiety.
She glanced at the passenger next to her, hoping for a normal, grounding interaction, but he remained deeply asleep under his blanket. Clara felt utterly isolated, trapped in a bubble of bizarre, unexplainable hostility. Her mind spun with increasingly irrational theories, her heart hammering against her ribs as she debated whether she should just keep her head down until they reached Tennessee.