Back in his chauffeured Bentley, the drive to the airstrip was mostly silent, save for the rain pattering on the roof and the occasional hum of the engine. Albert sat in the back, eyes on the mist-draped peaks, his thoughts already assembling like chess pieces.

Poppy reclined on the leather seat beside him, hands behind her head, wings occasionally flicking to shake off droplets. “So… what’s the plan, boss?”

“There is no ‘we,’” Albert said, keeping his voice low and steady. “There’s me, flying to London, and there’s whatever bizarre neurological episode you are, hopefully resolving before I’m in front of my staff.”

The driver’s eyes flicked up to the rear-view mirror. Albert caught the glance, realised what it must look like—his employer calmly conversing with no one—and felt his jaw tighten.

Poppy waved cheerfully at the driver. “Hello!”

Albert murmured, “Don’t do that.”

"Sorry, sir?", the driver exclaimed.

"Oh no, nothing, not you."

The driver looked on, somewhat bemused. They pulled up beside the hangar, where two members of his ground team were waiting under umbrellas. The pilot stepped forward to greet him, posture crisp.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Nestory,” the pilot began.

“Afternoon,” Albert replied, already striding toward the jet.

“Oh, are we not shaking hands?” Poppy asked, floating alongside him. “Bit rude.”

Albert muttered, “I’m not shaking hands with someone who doesn’t exist.”

One of his staff, a young woman holding a clipboard, froze mid-step. “What's that, sir?”

“Nothing,” Albert said quickly. “Just… thinking aloud.”

Her eyes darted to the man beside her, who raised his eyebrows almost imperceptibly. Neither spoke, but the air was suddenly thick with polite uncertainty.

Inside the cabin, the senior flight attendant greeted him with her usual composure, though her smile faltered for a fraction of a second when Albert said, “No, she doesn’t need anything,” before she’d even offered him a drink.

“Pardon, sir?” she asked carefully.

Albert waved a hand. “Coffee. Oat milk. That’s all.”

Poppy, sitting cross-legged on the seat opposite, grinned. “Oh, and a biscuit. Or three.”

“No biscuits,” Albert snapped.

The flight attendant blinked. “Understood, sir.” She glanced over her shoulder as she left, clearly fighting the urge to exchange what the hell is going on looks with the crew.

As the jet taxied out, Albert opened his laptop and began scanning the incoming reports from London. Poppy leaned in far enough that her hair brushed his sleeve.

“Your people think you’ve gone mad,” she whispered, almost gleeful.

“They think I’ve been struck by lightning and am under stress,” Albert replied tightly. “Which is true. What’s not true is that I’m sitting opposite a winged fairy in a leather jacket.”

She rested her chin in her hands. “Pixie.”

The seatbelt sign pinged off, and the attendant returned with his coffee. “If there’s… anything else you need, Mr. Nestory, please just… let us know.” The pause was noticeable.

“Thank you,” Albert said smoothly. “And no—no one else needs anything.”

The attendant nodded and left quickly, the cabin door clicking shut behind her. Poppy gave him a slow, knowing smile.

Albert took a long sip of his coffee. This was going to be a very long flight.