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Chapter 10 - Still Airborne

Malachi did not land the aircraft.

Not yet.

The pilots did not wake.

The strange cup was not explained.

No culprit was revealed.

No final rescue arrived.

The story ended in the cockpit of Flight 782, still airborne over the black North Atlantic, with instrument panels glowing across Malachi Brooks’s frightened face and warning lights pulsing softly through the dim aircraft lighting.

He remained seated in the captain’s chair, both small hands gripping the control yoke, oversized headset covering his messy brown hair.

His secondhand navy blazer was wrinkled.

His striped tie had slipped sideways.

The bronze aviation wing pin on his chest caught a flash of cockpit light.

Grace Holloway stood beside him, braced near the console, emergency checklist open in one hand. Her eyes were wet, but her voice stayed steady because Malachi needed steadiness more than tears.

Behind them, passengers remained crowded at the open cockpit doorway, terrified but silent, finally understanding that interference could be more dangerous than fear.

The radio crackled.

The unseen controller’s voice returned, shaken by recognition but firm with purpose.

“Brooks… Captain Isaiah Brooks’s son?”

Malachi looked down at the wing pin.

For one second, he was not the hero passengers wanted him to be.

He was a twelve-year-old boy missing his father in a cockpit no child should have to command.

Then Grace noticed the overturned cup again.

The faint residue near the pilots’ side of the cockpit caught the light.

Her face changed.

Alarm.

Suspicion.

A new kind of fear.

Malachi saw her expression but did not ask.

Not yet.

He kept the aircraft steady.

The controller spoke again through static.

“Malachi, listen to my voice. We do this one step at a time.”

Malachi swallowed.

His fingers tightened around the yoke.

“One step at a time.”

The aircraft shuddered but stayed airborne.

Grace looked from the cup to the unconscious pilots, then back to the child holding the controls.

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Outside, there was only darkness and ocean.

Inside, every life on Flight 782 depended on a boy who had inherited a name the sky remembered.

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