I turned to him.
“Bad is not impossible.”
He nodded once.
That helped him.
Maybe it helped me too.
We began descent.
The cabin was told to brace for emergency landing. Mia’s voice over the intercom was calm enough that I knew she was crying between words.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your crew. We are preparing for an emergency landing with military escort. Please remain seated with seat belts fastened. Follow all crew instructions. Heads down when commanded. We are going to get through this together.”
We.
That word mattered.
In a crisis, people need someone to blame.
But even more, they need someone to follow.
Descent through the storm felt like lowering a cathedral down a mountain in the dark.
The aircraft bucked.
Wind slammed us sideways.
David called altitude.
“Ten thousand.”
“Speed?”
He answered.
“Hydraulics?”
“Holding. Barely.”
The runway lights did not appear until we were much lower than I wanted.
At first, they looked like a string of pale beads trembling beneath the clouds.
Then they sharpened.
Straight ahead, but not easy.
The wind shoved from the side.
I corrected.
The 747 resisted.
Raptor One stayed with us as long as he could before peeling away.
“You’re lined up,” Caleb said. “Slight right correction. Wind shear reported near threshold.”
“Copy.”
Then, softer, he added, “Bring them home, Emma.”
He had not used my first name until then.
The old me and the new me collided in that single word.
Emma.
Valkyrie.
Flight attendant.
Pilot.
Ghost.
Woman.
Alive.
“Brace!” Mia’s voice rang through the cabin.
The aircraft dropped.
Hard.
The runway jumped toward us.
