“You are going to take these children, Mark,” Linda said.

“No, I am not,” I said.

She looked at my airline lanyard hanging from my pocket.

She looked at the brass pilot wings pinned to my chest.

“You love your job, don’t you?” Linda asked.

Her eyes were cold, like gray stone.

“You worked very hard to get into that captain’s seat,” she said.

“Don’t do this, Mother,” I said.

“The FAA is very strict about safety,” Linda said, her voice barely a whisper.

She took a step closer, her breath warm against my chin.

“They take public safety very seriously,” she said.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“I know how the reporting system works,” Linda said.

She reached out and patted my collar.

“A single anonymous report about a pilot using prescription pills or drinking before a flight can ground them instantly.”

My stomach turned.

“I have a spotless record,” I said.

“Records can be questioned,” Linda said.

“You wouldn’t,” I said.

“Try me,” my mother said.

Hannah watched us, her face pale, but she did not say a word to stop her.