“The cabin air is compromised. I tried to help the passengers in first class, but they are already slipping into comas.”

He stepped over the threshold, his eyes scanning the cockpit instruments with a strange, analytical intensity.

He didn’t look like a doctor trying to save lives; he looked like a man checking the progress of an experiment.

“You need to let me assist the boy,” Thorne said, taking another step forward.

“I have some medical knowledge of aviation systems. I can help him level the aircraft.”

“Stay back, Doctor,” I said, raising the heavy metal flashlight.

“No one touches those controls except Malachi.”

“Grace,” Malachi whimpered, his hands shaking so hard the yoke was vibrating in his grip.

“The red light is blinking. The one that says ‘APPR’. What does that mean?”

I glanced at the panel.

The autopilot disconnect warning was flashing a steady, angry crimson.

“Don’t touch it, Mal,” I said, keeping my eyes fixed on Dr. Thorne.

“Just keep the nose level.”

Dr. Thorne took another step, his hand reaching toward the center console where the engine fire handles were located.