Marcus stared into the impenetrable darkness beyond the window. Then he glanced down at his phone.
At the last photo he had taken of Zoey—her gap-toothed grin glowing against the backdrop of their small kitchen.
He had promised her he would come home safely.
He had promised.
The captain’s voice returned, tighter now. More urgent.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I need to be more specific. We have experienced a critical malfunction in our flight control systems. If anyone on board has experience manually flying aircraft—particularly military or combat aviation—we need you to identify yourself to the cabin crew immediately. Time is of the essence.”
The words lingered in the recycled air like smoke.
Passengers shifted. Murmurs rippled. A baby began to cry near the back. A man in first class stood and scanned the cabin, clearly hoping someone else would act first.
Marcus felt his heart begin to race.
He understood exactly what the captain was saying. The carefully chosen language meant to calm passengers while signaling serious danger. A critical flight control failure. Manual flight required. Combat experience preferred.
