I swung the heavy metal flashlight toward his wrist.

The metal casing struck his arm with a dull, heavy crack.

Thorne cried out, dropping the glass vial onto the pedestal.

It rolled toward the gap between the thrust levers and the console.

“You foolish girl,” Thorne hissed, lunging at me with his good hand.

His fingers clawed at my collar, pulling me down toward the metal deck.

I lost my footing on the slick floor of the cockpit entry.

The flashlight clattered out of my hand and rolled into the darkness near the captain’s rudder pedals.

Thorne’s weight came down on my chest, pressing the breath out of my lungs.

I smelled the sweet, metallic scent of the aerosol on his clothes.

“Malachi, stay in your seat!” I choked out, trying to push Thorne’s chin away with my palm.

Malachi was gripping the side of the pilot’s seat, his face pale under the emergency lights.

“Grace!” the boy yelled.

Thorne reached for the dropped vial with his left hand, his fingers scraping against the metal casing of the autopilot control panel.