Departures and Other Disasters

Airports were the worst.

Not because of the long security lines or the overpriced coffee, but because they forced people to engage in that awkward, drawn-out process known as saying goodbye.

Amara hated goodbyes.

But here she was, standing in the VIP terminal of the international airport, trying very hard not to scowl at the universe for making her suffer like this.

Elara stood beside her, looking effortlessly perfect despite the early morning hour. Her suitcase—sleek, expensive, and undoubtedly packed with designer outfits—rested at her side. She was leaving. Again. And Amara had to pretend she was fine with it.

She was not fine with it.

Helena, meanwhile, looked like she was about to cry.

"My baby," she sighed, clutching Elara's hands dramatically. "Off to Paris, so far away, for so long—"

"Mom, she's literally just going to work," Amara cut in, unimpressed. "Not off to war."