She walked with purpose, long strides echoing rhythmically across the hallway. Her heels clicked at a fast pace as she pounced upon her destination. She swung the door in-front of her open, and strutted through, met with the sight of Terminal 2 of London Airport. Carter Hemings tossed her head to the side, her chopped black locks flying. As her eyes scanned the busy scene, her piercing crystal blue gaze caught sight of what she was looking for. From her standstill, she took off again. Making her way over, she pulled out her passport and boarding card. Approaching the desk, she nodded her head in acknowledgment to the man stood behind it, a lanky of sorts, wild untamed lock and thick rimmed glasses.

A kid? Work experience? No, intern.

He gave a geeky smile back as he handed back her identification.

"Enjoy your flight, Miss Flavel" He spoke lightly, indicating over towards the waiting area with his thumb.

"Thank you"

Resuming her paced walk, Carter took herself over to the leather backed chairs whilst tossing the passport into the trash can nearest her. Pulling out her phone, she saw a new message decorating the lock screen.

'You better be on your way to France'

She groaned out loud. She hated being pestered about a job that she was obviously trusted to do.

The sound of a flight announcement blared through the vast space, peeking her interest as her head spiked up.

I guess that's my flight, to France I go.

She took to her feet, swiping her bag from the floor before she walked over to the boarding area. Dodging her way through the throngs of people, she quickly showed her second passport and was escorted towards the large plane. The cold English air whipped through her locks as the slight spray of light rain fell from the sky. Her steps became larger, wanting to avoid the weather from beating at her impeccable appearance. She looked the definition of professional, tight black dress pants paired with heels, a navy blazer covering a white dress shirt, all topped off with a cream coloured trench coat. Climbing the shallow stairs of the aircraft, she made her way to the front, finding her seat easily. She sat straight with incredible posture, her eyes observing the grounds crew sorting around by the feet of the Boeing 747. It was a matter of minutes before everyone else was set for departure and the plane had started its taxi down the runway. Carter took an deep inhale, practicing her square breathing with such control as they picked up speed. As they steadily tip-toed off the tarmac into the air, one thought swirled her mind.

France. Fucking France.