“Sir,” I said, stepping slightly closer, lowering my voice. “I need you to calm down.”
But he leaned into it instead. “Or what? You gonna kick me off for asking a question?”
That was the moment. The one where training takes over.
I was seconds away from signaling for security—standard procedure when a passenger becomes disruptive before takeoff. Three seconds, maybe less.
Then something stopped me. It wasn’t him. It was the dog. I looked again, really looked this time. His eyes weren’t scanning the cabin. They weren’t reacting to noise or movement. They were focused. Forward. Down, almost imperceptibly. Like he was aware of something no one else could see. A memory surfaced—briefing notes from earlier that morning, something mentioned quickly, easy to overlook in the rush of pre-flight prep.
