To say this whole thing made her a little nervous would be an understatement. If it hadn't been for Magnus and her deep pockets Krista would have said no. If Mel found out about this he would kill her, which ironically is why she had said yes; what Mel didn't know- The whole thing is ridiculous: Magnus in Yellowknife in the middle of the winter, the mysterious cargo she had asked Krista not to declare, the guy in the blue button down that can’t seem to stop staring at her, his mouth occasionally hanging open a little too far to be considered polite. Magnus had at least allowed her to file a flight plan, a valid flight plan, which Krista found to be a small victory, albeit one she assumed, with great frustration, had nothing to do with her and everything to do with Magnus' companion who was currently looking at their plane with apprehension.
"You fly better than she does, right?" He asks and Krista assumes he's addressing her, not Magnus, and scowls. Magnus wasn't a bad pilot from what Krista had seen, but flying was her life, of course she flew better.
"Kind of my job." She reminds him but he doesn't look any more convinced. For a moment he looks as if he may second guess her but then changes his mind. At least in the few hours since they’d met, since he and Magnus had knocked on her door in the middle of the night, he had learned better.
It's her turn to be nervous now, the ground far below them, the border rapidly approaching. They had stopped multiple times to refuel without issue, but it's this invisible boundary that worries her. Whatever their third passenger was, dead, alive or otherwise, Krista had a feeling it wasn't exactly legal. Despite the omnipresent darkness, flights this time of day weren't exactly common occurrences. They were asking for trouble and she knew it.
She double checks her controls and focuses for a moment on the almost imperceptible static that hums through the radio. It's an old nervous habit she had developed during her first few solo flights, one she'd thought she'd done away with. It was soothing, the silence, it always has been, so she tries not to think too hard about what it means when she strains her ears to drink it in. They're out of radio range for a moment, tucked in the shadow of a mountain but that won't last. It's unlikely their flight will be interrupted by anything other than another anxious comment about the wind, the weather, or the turbulence— minor in Krista's book- but she finds the mere thought of the possible intrusion uncharacteristically glum. Radio contact meant she was almost there, it meant someone was waiting for her, and on the trips that ended in Yellowknife,it meant she was almost home.
There's not the same sense of victory here or an hour later when she radios the tower and begins her descent. There's no feeling of welcome, or even relief at the end of their long flight, only more nerves. Magnus, her cargo, and her travel buddy who's name Krista still hasn't bothered to learn, would be gone soon enough, but there's still the long hours of restless sleep and the longer flight north before she can put all this to rest, cash Magnus' check, and lie through her teeth to Mel about needing some time off, a joyride turned sour with temporary engine trouble or whatever tale it was that she would cook up.
Loreen of course knew where she had gone, who she had gone with, but she’d never breathe a word to Mel, just as Mel would never check the books and see Magnus' deposit, or find the flight plan tucked away with all the others. The hard part was over, but it felt like it was just beginning.