The word sat in the small hot space of the flight deck and changed the air in it.

Maya’s eyes went at once to the center console, to the spot where a crew member’s personal thermos would have sat, and the spot was empty.

Where is his thermos, she asked, and her voice had gone flat and cold.

The lead flight attendant, hovering at the door, looked and looked again and said that it had been right there a few minutes ago, that she was sure of it, that someone must have, and did not finish the sentence because there was no innocent way to finish it.

Maya felt the whole picture turn over and show her its underside, and she did not like what was on it.