“There are three.”
“Middle.”
She reached toward it.
“Wait.”
Maya froze.
“What?”
“The design may have changed.”
“Ethan.”
“I’m thinking.”
“We have four minutes.”
“I know.”
Then Aaron shouted from above.
“Maya!”
“What?”
“Celeste just entered the cockpit!”
Maya’s stomach dropped.
“Torres?”
“She’s inside!”
A violent roll threw Maya against the compartment wall.
She slammed her shoulder against metal.
The flashlight spun away.
Darkness.
Overhead, passengers screamed.
“Maya!” Ethan shouted.
“I’m here.”
She grabbed the light.
“What happened?”
“Flight 417 is turning toward me.”
Maya’s blood ran cold.
“Celeste is trying to force a midair collision?”
“Yes.”
The F-16 appeared through the forward windows, crossing dangerously close.
Ethan pulled away.
Maya heard the strain in his voice.
“She’s not trying to c/rash you into the ocean anymore.”
“What does she want?”
“You.”
Maya stopped.
“What?”
“She wants you in the cockpit.”
“Why?”
Ethan did not answer.
