Chapter 1
LYRA
‘She said yes!’
The caption was punctuated with approximately fourteen heart emojis. Underneath, the comments had exploded. A ‘Finally!’ from Aunt Evelyn, ‘About time’ from one of Mireya's coworkers, and ‘SCREAMING!!!’ from three others.
Smiling, I double-tapped the photo of Mireya's ring. It was a three-carat, emerald-cut, platinum-band way that made my phone screen look like a jewelry advertisement. I excitedly typed my comment saying, ‘My sister, the bride-to-be. Love you both so much!’
Then I closed the app and stared at the seat back in front of me.
Mireya deserved this—every sparkling facet of that diamond, every emoji, every exclamation point.
She'd spent her teenage years juggling part-time jobs while going to school.
In her twenties, she would pick up extra shifts as a nurse while making sure I had money for spring break trips and sorority dues.
Then, Mom got sick with cancer. Mireya stepped up without being asked because we didn't have anyone.
Dad left us when I was young, and she compelled herself to fill every gap he'd abandoned, one sacrifice at a time.
She hadn't missed out on education. She was smarter than me, always had been.
But she'd missed out on being young.
She didn’t have the leisure of making stupid decisions and heartbreaks or the luxury of figuring out who she was without responsibility crushing her shoulders.
And yet, she made sure I never missed any of that.
I still remember the phone call over a year ago. Mom's voice shaking, telling me Mireya had passed out at the hospital, collapsed right in the middle of her shift—because of hunger and exhaustion. Her body had simply given out because she'd been too busy taking care of everyone else.
I had been two hundred miles away, studying for my pediatric nursing final. Useless. Again.
That guilt was why I had pushed through nursing school without failing a single class and dropping a single credit. For four years, my attendance had been perfect, pulling all-nighters, because quitting would have meant her sacrifice was for nothing.
Now, she was engaged to Riven Graves, a man she thought out of her league, but loved her for who she was anyway. I couldn’t be more proud of her. She deserved to be happy.
Today I was going on a solo trip, and she paid for it with her own money. She wanted me to celebrate and give myself a break after the hectic college life.
And I promised her I was going to make the most of it.
"Is that Lake Como?"
The woman next to me leaned toward my window. She had been reading a romance novel with a shirtless man on the cover since takeoff.
"I hope so," I said. "Otherwise I'm on the wrong flight."
She laughed warmly. "First time?"
"That obvious?"
"You've checked your passport four times since boarding."
"Five, actually." I winced. "I'm a little paranoid."
"Honey, I've traveled for forty years and still check mine twice at security." She extended her hand. "Barbara."
"Lyra." I shook it. "Nice to meet you."
"What's taking you to Como? Business or pleasure?"
"Pleasure." The word felt strange and unfamiliar. I wasn't used to doing things purely for pleasure. "I just graduated nursing school. This is my reward before real life swallows me whole."
"A nurse! How wonderful. My daughter-in-law is a nurse. God, the stories she tells." She shook her head. "You must have nerves of steel."
"I mostly run on coffee and anxiety," I admitted. "But it gets the job done."
Barbara laughed. "Well, Lyra, you're going to love Como. I've been coming here for years with my husband." Something soft crossed her face. "This is my first trip since he passed. It’s been eight months now."
"I'm sorry," I said, and meant it.
"Don't be. We had forty-two beautiful years.
I'm just learning how to do the things we loved without him.
" She patted my arm, and I caught sight of the wedding band on her finger. She hadn’t taken it off.
"That's the secret, you know. Keep living.
Keep moving. The grief doesn't go away, but you learn to carry it differently. "
I nodded, feeling my throat going dry as the thought of Mireya crossed my mind again, wondering how she managed to stay strong on for years, while carrying a weight that should have been shared.
"Now tell me about nursing school," Barbara urged brightly. "I want to hear about the most ridiculous patient you ever had."
I grinned, settling into my seat. "Okay, so there was this one guy who came in convinced he'd swallowed a bluetooth speaker..."
The conversation flowed easily. Barbara gasped and clutched her chest in all the right moments. And for a while, I let myself forget about the guilt and my sister’s sacrifices.
I let myself just be Lyra on a plane to Italy, making a friend and having fun.
As I was comically narrating my third story during my internship, the plane shuddered. I gripped my armrest as the cabin rattled around us. My stomach dropped.
"Just turbulence," Barbara said calmly. "Happens all the time."
The seatbelt sign dinged on with an aggressive chime. Then came another shudder. The plane dipped to the left, and someone yelped behind us. I saw the flight attendant grab a seat back to steady herself.
Just when I thought it would get better, the plane dropped—a stomach-lurching, gravity-defying plunge that sent overhead bins rattling and drew a collective scream from the cabin.
My body lifted against the seatbelt, weightless for one horrifying second before gravity slammed back.
A drink cart broke free from its lock and went skidding down the aisle, scattering tiny vodka bottles.
A baby started wailing somewhere in the back.
I heard someone praying in Spanish. Another one was sobbing.
Barbara's romance novel flew off her lap and hit the ceiling.
I only remembered how to breathe when we leveled out—along with the collective sighs of relief of the passengers.
"We apologize for that disturbance," the captain announced through the static of the intercom. "We should be through the worst shortly."
A minute later, before I could even calm my nerves, the intercom crackled again. "If there is a medical professional on board, please make your way to the front cabin immediately."
My seatbelt was off before I finished processing.
"Go," Barbara said, and there was respect in her voice. "I'll hold down the fort."
I pushed into the aisle. Chaos was everywhere.
Passengers clutched their armrests and rosaries while muttering prayers and holding each other.
A woman near row twenty was gasping into a paper bag.
A man was shoving the drink cart aside, vodka bottles crunching underfoot.
My heart twisted when I saw a toddler screaming and crying in her mother’s arms.
I moved through it all, adrenaline kicking in, my profession and muscle memory calling me. This was what I did. What I was good at. While other people froze, I moved.
I would rather do something wrong than nothing at all.
The first-class curtain hung crooked, half-torn from its rod. I pushed it aside and found the emergency.
A man in his sixties, gray-faced was slumped in his seat while a woman, whom I presumed was his wife, tugged at his arm, her voice pitched high with panic. I walked past the two terrified and clueless flight attendants hovered nearby.
"Robert, darling, stay with me," said his wife. She sobbed with her hands trembling. "Robert, please, oh god—"
I dropped to my knees. "Sir, can you hear me? Robert?"
His eyes were unfocused, rolling back slightly. Beads of sweat trickled down his face and his hand clawed at his sternum like he was trying to tear his shirt open.
I turned to the woman. "Ma'am, I'm a nurse. Does your husband have any heart conditions?"
"He had a stent put in last year… A blockage… He's been taking his medication—"
"Any allergies? Has he eaten anything unusual today? Shellfish, nuts, anything new?"
She shook her head. "Just the airplane chicken. Oh god, was it the chicken? Did the chicken do this?"
I found his pulse at the wrist. It was rapid, thready, and irregular.
"No, ma'am, this isn't food-related,” I muttered. I looked up at the brunette flight steward. “I need the emergency medical kit."
The attendant scrambled toward the galley. Then I turned to the redhead, standing frozen in place, her hands shaking.
"What's your name?"
"G-Gail."
"Gail, tell the captain we have a possible cardiac event. We may need to coordinate with ground medical. Can you do that?"
She nodded and moved toward the cockpit.
I breathed and returned my attention to the patient. "Robert, my name is Lyra. Can you tell me where the pain is? Is it your chest?"
He groaned, gesturing weakly at his chest, his left arm.
Radiating pain. Excessive and abnormal sweating. History of cardiac stent. Textbook.
The attendant returned with the kit. I unzipped it, scanning the contents—aspirin, AED, oxygen mask, portable tank. Just the basic supplies, but workable.
"I'm going to give you aspirin, Robert. I need you to chew it, not swallow."
I was tearing the packet when another presence arrived. Through my peripheral vision, I saw a tall and broad-shouldered figure, moving through the chaos with a certainty that made the surrounding panic feel distant.
"What's his status?"
The voice was deep and calm, demanding answers but not overbearing.
I looked up.
Green eyes met mine, the color of moss after rain.
His gaze was sharp and intense, framed by thick, dark lashes.
His face had strong lines and careful angles, with a jaw that could have been carved from stone, and high and defined cheekbones.
His dark hair was thick and well-kept, with threads of silver at the temples that didn't age him so much as refine him.
He looked like a man who had been handsome in his youth and had only grown more striking with time.