“Doctor, help me with the captain,” I said. “We need to get him into a recovery position.”

Thorne didn’t move. He seemed lost in thought, his face pale and expressionless.

“Doctor?” I repeated.

“Yes,” Thorne said, blinking. “Of course.”

He knelt beside Captain Pierce, but his movements were slow, almost reluctant.

He felt the captain’s pulse, his fingers lingering on the neck.

“His heart is weak,” Thorne said. “The toxin is a neuroblocker. It paralyzes the respiratory system.”

“Can you treat it?” I asked.

“Without a lab? Without the proper antidote? No,” Thorne said.

“How do you know it’s a neuroblocker?” I asked.

Thorne paused, his fingers still on the captain’s neck.

He looked up at me, his eyes dark and empty.

“I am a toxicologist, Grace,” he said softly. “It is my specialty.”

“You told me you were a general practitioner when you boarded,” I said.

The plane rattled again, a sharp sideways jolt that sent the yellow flight notes flying from my hand.

They fluttered toward the open hatch in the floor.

“The notes!” Malachi cried.

I lunged forward, throwing myself onto the deck.