Nasya's POV
Zayn's expression appeared relaxed, but his gaze was sharp, as if he could see right through my flesh and into the shattered remnants of my soul.
I lowered my head to avoid his stare and muttered, "I told you, my name is Nasya Fanning. I'm not Penelope Fannings. And I want to go home."
"Nasya Fanning? Go home?" Zayn tilted his head slightly, studying me in silence.
His scrutiny made my skin crawl. For a moment, I was reminded of the wild hare I had once hunted—I wondered if it had felt the same prickling dread I did now.
"Whoever you are, you're my mate. And turning back isn't an option. We'll be in New York in half an hour," Zayn said, gesturing toward the window.
"What?!" I gasped under my breath, pressing against the window to stare at the towering cityscape below. How was it possible that just hours ago, I'd been in British Columbia, and now I was about to land in New York?
