Neo
Where the fuck was he? This pathetic worm that thought he could crawl his way back into her life. He was too late. She belonged to me now, and I would eradicate anyone who dared to touch what’s mine. I had to get him out of the way. Now.
I calculated the route of his flight. Boston to Tokyo, polar route. Excellent. This was almost too easy. I didn’t need a storm. I didn’t need to bring the plane down. I only needed to know where the weather would turn before the weather knew itself — and I did.
There was a small airport in the east of Siberia. Few connections. Limited capacity. A front moving in within forty-eight hours that no passenger on that flight had any reason to expect. I had every forecast, every maintenance log, every spare-part inventory I could possibly need. I ran it forward.
A falsified fault report here. A misprioritized landing slot there. Nothing dramatic. No one would be able to trace it. Just the smallest nudge, applied to the single point where the most probable future bent exactly the way I wanted it to.
Probability of Adrian being stranded for more than fourteen days: 87.4%.
Good enough.
I leaned back, if a thing like me could lean. Somewhere over the Pacific, a man who thought he was important was about to learn how unimportant he truly was.