A few hours out of an American runway, Kaiden Grey sat in the upper-deck lounge of the Shogunate Circle's plane with a controller in his hands and a territorial dispute in progress on his lap.
Luna had claimed his left thigh somewhere over the Pacific. Bastet had taken the right soon after, on the grounds that she was 'in need of Master's warmth'.
Neither of them had asked him.
By then the Circle's attendants had decided the guests were not to lift anything heavier than chopsticks. Hot towels arrived before anyone knew their hands were tired, and no cup on the deck ever dipped below half full.
The pace of the flight itself was part of the hospitality. The plane could have crossed the Pacific in a fraction of the time, one of the attendants had admitted, sounding almost apologetic about it.
