Richard Calloway was gripping the armrest so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. His face had lost all color, draining into a frightening gray, and one hand was pressed hard against his chest as if he were trying to stop something inside his body from breaking apart. His breaths came in short, painful gasps that grew weaker each second.
A flight attendant noticed almost immediately.
“Sir, are you alright?” she asked, kneeling beside him.
But Richard didn’t answer.
Within seconds the attendant’s calm professionalism shifted into urgency.
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