On the main display screen, the green radio frequencies blinked twice.

Then they went dark.

The static in the speakers died instantly.

We were completely cut off from the world below.

Thorne stood up, brushing a speck of dust off his trousers.

He tossed the wire cutters onto the floor.

“There,” he said, looking at the black screens.

“Now we have all the privacy we need.”

I stared at the dead radio panel, my breath shallow.

Malachi’s head was bent low over the yoke, his shoulders shaking.

On the floor, Whitmore began to wail, a high-pitched, pathetic sound.

The countdown timer on the device in Thorne’s hand clicked.

01:30.

“Grace,” Malachi whispered.

“I can’t hear them anymore.”

“The ground is gone.”

I reached out and put my hand on his trembling shoulder.

His skin was freezing.

“I’m here, Malachi,” I said.

But my eyes were on the overhead panel, where the warning lights were beginning to amber.

Then, the cockpit door behind us clicked.

The lock was turning.

The heavy security latch slid back with a dull metallic scrape.