But what was said about those who hunted the wicked? Well, Tristan would tell you, the phrase was true for the good guys too. He rocked in and out of sleep for several, restless hours. He finally became so annoyed he decided to read his spoiled book again. Ash sat silent and stiff next to him with little to nothing else to say while she read her own book. The tension leaked off of her, filling the air of the small cabin like a poison, suffocating him slowly. He chalked it up to nervousness, even though she said she was “fine” whenever he asked. Her idea of fine was hardly ever just that. Regardless, it made the last three hours of the flight feel like he was trapped in a cardboard box with a snake. A very pissed off poisonous snake. It was only just after midnight when they landed in Paris. There was a private car waiting for them, a limo. The driver was unbelievably polite and spoke only French, but neither needed to understand the language to know he was trying to take them to the hotel.
