Chapter 157: The Fool Takes Flight
The morning air smelled like fuel and ambition.
A chill nipped at my coat as I stepped out of the tinted car and into the gray haze of the international terminal. The sun had barely peeked over the horizon, its warmth still a promise rather than a fact. Planes thundered in the distance. Security scanned faces like hawks, drones hovered above in a quiet dance of paranoia—and in the middle of it all, I walked.
No. Mr. Jester walked.
Bright violet boots kissed the concrete with every bounce of my step. My coat was a clash of stripes and checkers, oversized buttons down the front in mismatched shapes—heart, spade, question mark. The mask? Half-grin, half-frown, with eyes like polished obsidian and jester bells on each corner, jingling with each dramatic sway of my head. My ID badge swung from a neon lanyard: Mr. Jester – Conflict Zone Storyteller Extraordinaire. Camille's touch, of course. Eccentric, ridiculous, borderline criminal in design. Perfect.
People stared. Phones rose. Security whispered. Some laughed. Some stepped back. I twirled a pen between gloved fingers and hummed a nursery tune as if I didn't have fire running down the back of my spine.
"Oh, don't mind me! Just a humble reporter," I chirped to a stunned traveler as I sauntered past the first security barrier. "Off to chase storms and secrets!"
Internally, I was counting every camera, every guard, every angle. My girls were safe—security tripled, drones rerouted, patrols increased. No one was getting close to Camille, Alexis, or Sienna while I was gone.
The terminal loomed. One-way ticket. Pseudonym embedded in the system. Mr. Jester wasn't just a distraction.
He was an escape plan.
"Hey."
A tug on my coat.