A voice, faint and distorted by distance, broke through the noise.

“Flight Seven Eight Two, this is Gander Center on Guard. We have lost your transponder signal. Acknowledge.”

Malachi looked up at the speaker, his eyes wide.

“Grace? Someone is talking to us!”

Before I could answer, the primary flight display screen flickered, turned bright blue, and then went completely dark.

The entire cockpit was plunged into the dim, green glow of the standby instruments.

At the same second, the satellite phone on the rear bulkhead began to flash a bright, silent white.

Thorne took a step toward the central pedestal, his eyes fixed on the critical avionics panel below the main throttle quadrant.

The vial in his hand caught the green glow of the standby instruments.

“Step back, Doctor,” I said, my voice shaking but loud enough to fill the cramped space.

“You don’t understand the scale of what is happening here, Grace,” Thorne said, his voice entirely flat.

He reached down toward the exposed wiring harness near the floorboards, where a plastic cover had been pried loose.

I did not think about the consequences.