I stared at the screen.

Then I looked at Dr. Thorne.

“Who sent this?” I asked.

My voice was cold.

Thorne did not answer.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the metal wall.

Suddenly, the cockpit door behind us began to rattle.

Someone was trying to force it open from the cabin side.

“Grace,” Malachi said, his voice tense.

“Look at the screen.”

He pointed to the captain’s navigation display.

The flight data recorder warning light was flashing red.

The data was being wiped.

Someone in the cabin was doing it remotely.

The handle of the cockpit door turned slowly.

A heavy metallic click echoed in the quiet room.

The door began to swing inward.

The door swung fully open.

A man in a dark blue airline uniform stood in the doorway, holding a heavy metal emergency axe.

It was Miller, the lead air marshal who had been stationed in the main cabin.

His face was slick with sweat, and his eyes were bloodshot.

“Get away from the console,” Miller said, his voice shaking as he raised the axe toward Malachi.