so that I’d be away—so that I’d be on this damned flight—not because I didn’t want to be with him but because I did. Because I still love him, and it would have undone me.
Cesca comes into the galley, half turned as she answers a passenger. Absolutely—on the homestretch now! I try to find enough moisture in my mouth to speak even as I grapple for the words I will use. How can I ever explain what I’ve done? Every second that’s passed since I opened that letter—since I found Sophia’s photo even—I’ve been thinking about Sophia, about what I was being asked to do. But now that I’ve done it, what next? What happens to us now?
“Sweet kid. Wants to know if you’ve untangled his—” She takes one look at me, then pulls the curtain closed. “What’s wrong?”
I can’t speak. Can’t move. I stand with my back to the flight-deck door, hands pressed against the walls either side as though I’m blocking the way, when really, I’m anchoring myself because I don’t feel real. Nothing about this feels real.
Cesca must see something in my expression. Her face hardens, and she moves me forcibly to one side, punching in the code to request access to the flight deck. Will the hijacker even bother to look up at the cameras? Will he see the panic on Cesca’s face as the door fails to open?
Behind me, I’m aware of someone—Erik, I think—coming into the galley.
“For fuck’s sake, Mike.” Cesca taps in the code again, waiting for the click that means he’s released the door lock.
“What has happened?” I hear Erik’s clipped tones, followed by Carmel’s softer ones.
“Is something wrong?”
The four of us cluster around the flight-deck door, and I wonder what we’ll do if a passenger wants to use the bathroom or comes looking for a drink. It will be obvious to them that something is terribly wrong.
“Mike’s not letting me in.” Cesca swears under her breath, her fingers slipping on the keys. Her breathing is rapid and noisy, panic breaking through the surface. A slim wedding ring encircles her fourth finger. “Is he ill, or…Mike!” Her voice is urgent but quiet—he wouldn’t hear even a shout—and I try to speak but my mouth is so dry, nothing comes out. Cesca is trying the code again and again, and Erik is looking at me, and he knows. He knows…
“He’s got kids,” Cesca says. “Why would he…”
“Use the emergency code,” Erik says.
“No!” It’s out before I can stop it. The emergency code works in the opposite way to the standard request code. Instead of the pilot pressing a button to allow access, they have to press one to stop it. But to do that, they have to know it exists. They have to know which button to press.
Everyone stares at me.
“Don’t,” I say quietly.
They think it’s just Mike in there. That he’s ill or that he’s lost his mind. They don’t know we’ve been hijacked. They don’t realize they could all get hurt too.
“It was her.” Erik points an accusatory finger at me.
“I—”
“She did something.”
Everything spins, as though I might pass out. I have to explain. “My—my daughter. I—”
“She has been hiding something since we took off.”
Where do I even begin? I taste salt on my lips and realize I’m crying again. Perhaps I never stopped. I hear everyone’s voices as though we’re on a long-distance call: the briefest of delays between receiving the sound and understanding it.
“She was in the bathroom for a long time. Too long,” Erik says.
Sophia, I tell myself. I did it for Sophia.
“She got a note. From a passenger.” Carmel flushes slightly, avoiding my eyes as she tells Cesca. All three of them surround me, and I wish it would happen now, I wish the plane would dive and the inevitable would happen and it would all be over.
Will the investigation uncover how they accessed the flight deck? Will people know the impossible position in which I found myself? I think of the headlines, the photos they’ll dredge from somewhere to show the face of the woman who betrayed everyone. Will Adam hide them from Sophia? Will he tell her that I did it for her, to keep her alive, keep her safe? Will she understand that I loved her so much, I would have done anything to protect her? That I died to save her?
“Mina!” Cesca shakes me hard by the shoulder. “If you’re withholding information, I order you to tell me this instant.”