He is a passenger, Maya said.

Tonight he is nothing but a passenger, and the only people who fly this airplane are the people already inside this room.

The interphone came alive again.

The doctor had found something, the flight attendant said, her voice dropping as if the information itself were dangerous: a small plastic cap, the kind that seals a little vial, wedged down beside the frame of the first officer’s seat.

Maya closed her eyes for a half-second and let the last of it click into place.