“Hey Scully, did you know the Alaska state motto is ‘North to the future’?”
“Did you come up with it?”
He looks up from his magazine, the blue of the glossy two-dimensional glacier bouncing in his wide eyes. She can see him treading the edge in her voice. It’s the fourth flight of their trip and not their last, but it might be their last something: last bag of oversalted peanuts, last window seat for him to make a show of stealing when they both know he’s doing her a favor, last time a commercial flight ever seems to her like the worst possible way to cut across the clouds. The closer you come to falling off the top of the world, the less you notice turbulence. She grips the armrest to mark the last stand of ordinary fear.