"Zariah, I'm going to call you Zariah. That okay?"
"That's fine."
"I want a full picture from you. Walk me through what you're managing right now, top to bottom."
She took a breath—he heard it—and then she did exactly what he'd asked. She ran through it like a checklist:
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Autopilot disengaged, manual control from right seat.
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Left engine at 76% N2, holding but not recovering.
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Fuel crossfeed open; imbalance stabilized but not resolved.
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Pitch trim fault active; two monitoring circuit breakers confirmed pulled.
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Navigation drift slight; she was correcting with heading input.
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Hydraulic pressure normal for now.
He was writing as she talked. The supervisor behind him had stopped pretending to do other things and was reading over his shoulder.
"That's a thorough picture," Reeves said.
"I've been tracking this aircraft's behavior since before takeoff," she said. "I had 40 minutes of data before the emergency triggered. The failures aren't random. They're layered in a way that suggests someone who understood exactly which systems to compromise for maximum effect with minimum immediate visibility."
His supervisor put a hand on his shoulder and said quietly, "Get her everything she needs."
Reeves got back on the mic. "Understood. I'm with you all the way to the ground. What do you need from me right now?"
"I need to know about the terrain between my current position and Caldwell. Any high ground I should know about on this heading?"
He pulled the chart. "You're clear on 240. No significant terrain above 4,000 feet within your corridor. You have room."
"Good," she said. And then, after a brief pause: "Thank you, Mr. Reeves."
He didn't have an answer for that. He just stayed on frequency.