Then I noticed him.
A massive man, broad as a small car, towering above everyone in the terminal. Sleeveless leather vest stretched across muscular shoulders. Arms covered in faded tattoos, twisting from wrist to shoulder like dark, winding maps. Boots thudded heavily against the tile with every step, echoing in the otherwise soft hum of the terminal.
Dragging behind him was an old, battered suitcase. Not a sleek spinner with shiny metal corners. No, this one was different. Brown leather cracked and worn. Rusted clasps. One handle wrapped in black electrical tape. It looked heavier than most of the passengers in line, older than some of the officers themselves.
People whispered immediately.
“Why is he dragging that through security?”
“Did it even go through the scanner?”
“He’s being stopped, isn’t he?”
