He points vaguely at the signs overhead, which are clearly in Thai and English. I shake my head, trying to step around him.

His voice gets louder, more insistent. People are starting to glance over. My face heats up. I just got here. I don’t know anything.

The voice is low, flat, and cuts through the airport noise like a blade. It doesn’t raise in volume, but the man in the polo shirt immediately stops, looks past my shoulder, and mutters something before scurrying away.

The passenger door of the black car swings open and my sister practically leaps out. She’s wearing a bright sundress, a stark contrast to the man and his car. She doesn’t look mad. She looks… relieved.