The wind catches sharply in the gym bag, but all it takes is a sharp flick of Faye's wrist before it's back inside the craft, and she presses a few buttons to close the open space in the cockpit, the pressure sharp against her ears before everything falls quieter for the calm. Running her fingers through her hair where it's whipped around her eyes, she shakes her head in Lily's direction.

"It's fine," she says, pressing her lips tightly together and willing the words to make themselves true. "Wouldn't want to make you sit in front of the clothes box for several hours to replace something you used to help me. Bag doesn't hold the virus, anyhow."

With a soft groan, Faye leans back in her seat, pressing a couple of buttons to retrace the path of their flight, leaving the craft on a slow autopilot.

"God," she says. "This place is run by an asshole."