Warren was quiet for a moment. "Your dad sounds like he knew what he was talking about."
She didn't answer that.
Controller Reeves came back on: "7702, I have your situation. Nearest suitable airport is Caldwell Regional, approximately 80 miles at your current position and heading. I can vector you for straight-in approach. However, I need you to understand: we're working on getting emergency services to the airport, but at your current descent rate and engine state, you're going to need to manage your speed carefully on approach. Are you familiar with the ILS approach procedure? Over."
"Affirmative," she said. "But I want to flag something first: my engine state isn't from normal mechanical failure. I believe this aircraft was deliberately sabotaged. I have a passenger on board I've been tracking since before takeoff who made contact with a rear equipment panel approximately 40 minutes ago. The failure pattern I'm managing is layered and timed. This wasn't a maintenance failure. Over."
She could feel Warren's eyes on her. She kept her own eyes on the instruments. The controller's pause was longer this time.
"7702, copy that. I'm logging that information and flagging it for the appropriate authorities. Right now, my priority is getting you and those passengers on the ground safely. We can deal with the rest after. Agreed?"
"Agreed," she said. "But I need someone to make sure that passenger doesn't have access to any more aircraft systems. Over."
"Understood. Can the cabin crew handle that?"
She looked over her shoulder. Gerald was in the doorway. "Gerald, the man who was sitting in the middle two rows behind us—don't let him near any panel or equipment access. Keep someone with him. Now."
Gerald nodded and disappeared into the cabin.
She looked back at the instruments: the fuel imbalance had stabilized, but not resolved; the left engine was holding at 76%; the trim fault was still present—a persistent, low-level nagging in the side stick that she was compensating for with steady back pressure. It was manageable, but it was tiring in a way she hadn't anticipated: real aircraft controls had feedback that simulators approximated, but couldn't fully replicate. Her forearms were already feeling it. She adjusted her grip, kept the nose where she needed it.
"Warren," she said.
"Yeah?"
"The trim fault—I need to find a source. What systems could create a nose-down trim bias on this type?"