After nearly eleven hours in the air, the private jet finally began its descent into Anchorage. The sky was a soft grey, scattered with clouds, and the landscape below was clear and dry. It was early May—no snow on the ground, just the crisp air of a cool spring morning that still hinted at winter's past.
The jet's wheels kissed the runway with a smooth, controlled thud. A small gust of wind rippled across the empty tarmac as the aircraft gradually slowed and came to a full stop. From inside the jet, the passengers remained quiet, stretching and gathering their things, waiting for the all-clear.
