On the ground.
Moving straight.
Slowing.
No one in the cockpit celebrated yet.
Liam kept working until the aircraft was safely clear and stopped where emergency crews could meet them.
Only then did he lean back.
His hands were trembling.
He stared at them as if they belonged to somebody else.
Warren understood that too.
“You did it,” Warren said.
Liam shook his head.
“We did it.”
“You were flying.”
“And you kept me flying.”
Captain Stevens opened his eyes.
“Patterson.”
“Yes, Captain?”
“Take the compliment before I make it an order.”
Liam laughed for the first time that night.
Then Stevens looked at Warren.
“So.
Magic Hands.”
Warren winced.
“Apparently that information is spreading.”
“Still fits.”
Warren looked through the cockpit door as soon as Jillian opened it.
Norah was already standing in the aisle despite being told to remain seated.
Her teddy bear hung from one fist.
The instant she saw him, she ran.
Warren dropped to one knee and caught her.
She wrapped both arms around his neck so tightly that he had to close his eyes.
“You came back.”
“Told you I would.”
“You really flew fighter planes?”
“A long time ago.”
“Did you fly this one?”
Warren glanced toward Liam, who had appeared at the cockpit entrance behind him.
“No,” Warren said.
“Liam flew it.
I helped.”
Norah considered that.
“Like when you helped the lady with her suitcase?”
Warren laughed quietly.
“Something like that.”
Passengers had begun applauding.
Warren looked uncomfortable almost immediately.
He had spent enough years around pilots to know how quickly complicated events became simple stories once people were frightened enough.
One man saved the plane.
One hero.
One miracle.
Reality had been less clean.
Liam had kept control when his captain went down.
Jillian and the cabin crew had managed frightened passengers.
Captain Stevens, injured, had continued contributing whenever he could.
Controllers on the ground had created space for the diversion.
Warren had been one trained pair of hands in a chain that held.
