“We’ll be gone before they get close!” Noah shot back—right as the seaplane slammed into a steep swell. The impact rattled the entire cabin, metal groaning in protest. A warning light blinked angrily on the panel, casting an intermittent red glow across their faces.

Jamie gripped the armrest, knuckles blanching. “We’re going to roll this thing.”

“We won’t,” Noah replied, though the edge in his voice betrayed him. “All we need is time—just enough distance.”

Jamie pressed to the side window, squinting against the glare. When he spoke again, his tone was quieter, tighter. “I can see them now. Faces. They’re standing up—pointing, yelling—like they’ve already decided this plane is theirs.”

Noah snatched the binoculars from the dash, raised them for a single, steady look. He lowered them just as quickly.
“If they board us,” he said flatly, “we’re done.”