Estelle's Writing

The sea below glimmers like thousands of glowing embers. Robert trains his eyes towards the tiny waves, fingers drumming a staccato rhythm on his bouncing knee. The door makes a slight hissing sound as it slides shut. Robert twists his head around and grins at the newcomer.  "How's it going back there, Dutch?" The man shrugs, lips thinning. "They're all a bit restless. I think it's high time we got out of here." He glances towards Paul, whose tense shoulders have been squared towards the screens ever since they took off. He won't move from his seat, knuckles almost white from gripping the controls, despite the auto-pilot. Chestnut hair impeccably combed over his forehead. Bushy eyebrows frowned in a curve above his nose. Professional, as always. But then again, why wouldn't he be? If there's one moment in his life where he ought to be serious... "It won't be long, now," Robert says in a warm voice. A hum of acknowled...