The red light on the ceiling pulsed, painting his face in dark shadows.

“That vial,” Malachi said, his voice shaking. “It has the same numbers. The exact same ones.”

My fingers tightened around Thorne’s wrist.

The skin of his arm felt cold and dry, like old paper.

“Dr. Thorne, put the needle down,” I said.

He did not pull away.

Instead, he stood perfectly still, his eyes fixed on me.

“This is epinephrine, Grace,” he said. “It is a standard stimulant to restore blood pressure.”

“Not this one,” Malachi said, leaning over the pedestal. “Look at the label again.”

I looked down at the small glass bottle in Thorne’s left hand.

The printed black letters were small, but they were unmistakable.

*CX-442 Sterile Solution.*

“You’re a doctor,” I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. “You know what this does to someone who has inhaled the cargo sealant.”

“It stabilizes the cardiac rhythm,” Thorne said.

His tone was flat, devoid of the panic that was rising in the rest of the cabin.