It was five of us in total. Me, Ty, Matt, Reese, and the pilot. His name was Rick. Old guy, maybe late 50s. Worn out hoodie, work boots, laced to the ankle. Didn't say much beyond basic safety instructions.

He met us in a clearing past the last subdivision, just this empty stretch of field that smelled

like burned grass, no fences, no signs. The basket was already upright, balloon half-filled and swaying.

And Tybooked the ride on a whim.

Founded on some forum said that it'd be about 45 minutes in the air, sunset flight,

smooth, scenic.

The post said, bring a jacket.

That was all.

We took off at 7.15. Still light out, barely. The burner roared overhead, loud, but somehow comforting.

And the balloon rose, clean. No lurch, no pull, just this silent lift that made the whole thing feel like a trick.

Rick barely looked at us once we were up.

Just worked the burner, adjusted the cords while we passed our houses that looked like monopoly pieces.

The air felt thick with sun-warned silence.

At first it was fun.

Tie-cracked jokes. Matt was filming on his phone.

Reese leaned over the edge more than I was comfortable with,

spitting once just to see how long it took to disappear.

I was quiet, watching shadows crawl across the ground as the lights slipped west.

It felt calm, until it didn't.

I can't say exactly when it changed, maybe 15, 20 minutes in.

The trees looked darker, longer.

The fields were endless.

...