I make a strangled sound that’s half sob, half laugh. “Oh my God. Thank you.”
“Listen to me,” the voice says. “You’re doing good. Keep your hands on the yoke. Don’t yank it. Just breathe.”
I inhale sharply. Exhale.
“Instructor’s out?” he asks.
“Yes,” I blurt. “He just… slumped. He’s not waking up. I think he’s— I don’t know—having a heart attack or something. I’m not a doctor, I’m just a—” I choke. “I’m just Hannah.”
“Okay, Hannah.” Calm. Certain. “I’m going to walk you through this. You can do it.”
I swallow hard. “Who are you?”
A pause. Then, “Silas.” Just one name. Like he doesn’t need more.
“Silas,” I repeat, gripping the yoke like it’s the only thing tethering me to the earth. “Please don’t let me crash.”
“You’re not going to crash.” His voice lowers slightly, like he’s talking me down from a ledge. “Not on my watch.”
Not on his watch. That should be cheesy. It should. Instead, it hits something in my chest that feels like safety. The plane wobbles again and my stomach lurches.
“I need you to tell me what you see,” Silas says. “Look at your airspeed indicator. That’s the gauge with the numbers and the needle?—”
“I see it,” I gasp. “It’s… moving. Like a lot.”
“That’s normal. Tell me the number.”
I squint through tears, forcing my vision to focus. “Ninety. It’s… around ninety.”
“Good.” His voice is steady enough that I latch onto it like a rope. “Altitude?”
I glance at the altimeter, panic spiking again at the spinning needle. “Uh—two thousand… something? Two thousand eight hundred?”
“Copy. You’re at about twenty-eight hundred feet. We’re going to get you lined up with the runway. You’re near Timber Creek Airstrip.”
“I don’t know where that is,” I whisper.
“You will,” he says. “You’re going to look for a strip of asphalt with lights and an open field around it. It’ll look like a long, dark line.”
I scan the landscape below—patchwork trees, a ribbon of road, tiny houses like toys. Everything looks peaceful. Like the world has no idea I’m up here having a complete emotional collapse.
Then I see it. A long stretch, faint lights at the edges. A runway.
“I— I see it,” I say, voice shaking. “I see the runway.”
“Good girl.” He catches himself, clears his throat like he almost said something else. “Good. Keep it in sight.”
I swallow. “Okay. Okay.”
“Now, Hannah,” Silas says, “I need you to keep the wings level. See the horizon? Use it. Don’t stare at the ground.”
“I’m trying,” I whisper, but my vision keeps dropping because the runway looks like both salvation and doom.
The plane dips slightly again, and I gasp.
“Easy,” Silas says, voice like granite. “Small movements. Tiny. You’re not fighting it. You’re guiding it.”
Guiding it. Like I’m… in control. Like this isn’t just a metal coffin with wings. My hands tremble, but I try. I make a tiny adjustment and the plane steadies.
