Noah eased the throttle back, eyes fixed on the narrowing ribbon of ocean ahead. Every muscle in his body was tuned to the task—steady hands, measured breaths, no room for hesitation.

“Flaps locked,” he said, almost to himself. “Hold her level. We ride her in like glass.”

Jamie stayed silent, his knuckles white against the seat frame, the muscles in his forearms coiled tight.

The horizon swelled, water and sky rushing toward them in a seamless blur. The ocean’s surface shimmered innocently, but they both knew it hid a thousand ways to kill them—hidden swells, rogue currents, a breath of wind at the wrong moment. One imperfect touch and the aircraft would twist, splinter, and sink before they had time to unbuckle.