“Diplomatic?” I echoed.
“And he’s under federal monitoring for suspicious activity,” she whispered. “We were told to watch him… but he’s different today. He’s never changed seats before.”
My stomach twisted. If he had planned something, he expected to be in my seat.
“What should I do?” I asked.
Her eyes filled with dread. “Stay alert.”
Then the plane jerked violently.
Not turbulence—a shudder that shook the whole cabin. Passengers gasped. Fear surged instantly.
The man in row 18 stood again. The metallic device was tight in his fist. Harper sprinted toward him, but he lifted his hand.
“I just need five minutes,” he said shakily. “Then everything will be fine.”
A man nearby shouted, “Sit down!” Someone else reached toward him, but he stepped back, panicked.
“Stay away,” he warned. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
Harper inched forward. “Then let me help. What is that in your hand?”
He shook his head. “I’m not here to destroy anything.” His voice cracked. “I’m here to stop something.”
Silence froze the air.
Stop what?
Before anyone could process it, the cockpit door cracked open—just an inch. A crew member inside gestured urgently to Harper. Her face drained.
She turned to me and whispered, “He’s not lying. Ground security just sent an alert. Someone else on this aircraft is flagged as a threat.”
My blood ran cold.
It wasn’t him.
Someone else.
The man in row 18 looked straight at me. “You,” he said. “Your seat change—this morning. You were supposed to sit beside me so I could warn you. They told me someone might target this flight… and they’d sit near the emergency exit.” His finger trembled as it pointed at my seat. “Here.”
The device in his hand beeped softly. Harper gasped.
“It’s not a detonator,” he said. “It’s a scanner. A signal detector. There’s another device active on this plane.”
And suddenly every passenger felt the same terrible question tighten around the cabin:
Who here is carrying the real threat?
