100km
Apogee altitude

Strapped in, six of you. The count runs out, the engines light, and the ground lets go all at once.
The sky drains from blue to indigo to black. The horizon starts to bend. Nobody says anything.
Engines cut. You unbuckle and float to the window. Below you, the whole planet, edged in a line of light three minutes long.
You land where you left. Everyone does the same thing when they step out: they turn around and look up.

Every seat is a window seat, because there is only one thing to look at. No screens, no narration. Just the Earth, the black, and the thin bright line between them.
Inside the flight