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flipped a page. “Scandinavia and Russia have always been his favorite places to
    hide out, especially in winter. There’s hardly any daylight for months, and the temperatures are usually below
    freezing.”
    “So we’re just going there because that’s where he usually goes?” I still couldn’t wrap my mind around
    Peter hanging out in Finland. That just didn’t sound… I don’t know. Exotic enough?
    “No. Word has been spreading through some channels that Peter’s had a run-in in Finland. I don’t
    know exactly where he is, but I feel certain that he’s somewhere around there,” Ezra
    explained.
    “A ‘run-in?’ What happened?” I pressed.
    In all the hurry of leaving, I had neglected to find out where we were going, or even what we were
    going to save Peter from. Ezra had been very vague on the details, but he was positive that there was trouble.
    That was enough for me, until we stuck on a flight for three hours with nothing to do.
    Suddenly, that
    information all seemed more pertinent.
    “I’m not entirely sure,” he said at length. “And I’d rather not speculate.”
    “You’d rather not speculate?” I repeated, feeling a little perturbed. “I’m on a plane flying half-way
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    across the world, much to the chagrin of my boyfriend, and not only do you not know
    where we’re going, but
    you’d rather not even speculate on why we’re going?”
    “Finland is not half-way around the world,” Ezra corrected me, looking at me rather
    severely. “Jack
    will understand, and I can’t explain what I don’t know.”
    “Fine.” I settled back down in my seat and crossed my arms over my chest. “I can’t speak Finnish.”
    “You don’t need to. I can.” He flipped another page in his book, and I sighed.
    “You’re gonna be a hoot to travel with if you’re gonna be like this whole time,” I muttered, and Ezra
    laughed to himself.
    Eventually, I borrowed a couple books from Ezra so I had something to do on the flight.
    After hours
    of doing next to nothing, I vowed to get as many magazines and books as I could when we landed at JFK.
    That was my plan until we actually started de-boarding the plane, and Ezra grasped my hand tightly in his.
    “There’s a three hour layover here, assuming everything leaves on time,” Ezra told me
    quietly as
    walked. “You can’t eat until we got on the plane, because they won’t let you on it if you seem like you’re
    drunk or high, which you are when you eat. So I need you to stay by me and never let go of my hand, no
    matter what. Is that clear?”
    “Yeah but….” I was about to ask him why, but then we were stepping beyond the plane,
    and the
    smell hit me for the first time.
    There hadn’t been that many people in the Minneapolis airport. In fact, I would go so far as to say
    there weren’t even that many people in Minneapolis. JFK terminal is a city unto itself, full of hot, sweaty
    people pressed up against each other. Even with it being as late as it was, everything was congested. And
    suddenly, my thirst appeared with a vengeance.
    This was my very first time in New York City, but we were only here for a layover, and I was already
    going crazy with thirst. The next three hours were torture. Most of the time, I had to grip Ezra’s hand so
    tightly, I don’t know how I didn’t break a bone or something. In turn, he sat there patiently, talking to me
    about mundane things, like the Cary Grant movie he’d just watched with Mae.
    To onlookers, I’m sure I looked totally insane. I sat there rigidly, my eyes locked on my shoes in front
    of me. I must’ve been incredibly pale, and my hand was desperately gripping Ezra’s. He was sitting next to me
    casually, a leg crossed over his knee, with a magazine open on his lamp and telling me all about Martha
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    Stewart’s recommendations for making Halloween treats. I know he was just trying keep me calm and
    focused, because if I were to lunge at someone walking past, that would very, very