Access Restored

The fuel gauge began its rapid descent, a silent countdown ticking away our altitude. Arthur didn't notice. He was too busy lecturing my children on the importance of "family loyalty," spinning a web of lies about why Mommy had to stay behind.

I watched Julian's finger hover over the dump switch. He wasn't just draining the tank; he was draining his father's power. Without fuel, this flying fortress was just a glider. And gliders have to land.

"How long?" I mouthed to him.

He held up five fingers. Five minutes until the tanks were dry. Five minutes until the engines flamed out and the silence woke Arthur up.

I looked around the cabin. I needed a weapon. Something better than a seatbelt buckle.

My eyes landed on the galley. A heavy metal coffee pot sat secured in its dock.

"Dad," Julian said, his voice steady. "I think there's a problem with the left engine."

Arthur frowned, breaking off his monologue. "What?"

"The pressure is dropping," Julian said. "Look."

He pointed to a gauge that was perfectly fine. But Arthur didn't know how to fly. He only knew how to command.

Arthur unbuckled his seatbelt. He stood up and leaned over the console, peering at the dials.

"I don't see anything," he muttered.

"Right there," Julian said.

I moved.

I unbuckled silently. I slipped out of my seat. I grabbed the coffee pot. It was full, hot, and heavy.

Arthur straightened up. "Pilot, what is the status of engine one?"

"Engine one is nominal, sir," the pilot's voice crackled over the intercom. "But we are losing fuel rapidly. I'm declaring an emergency."

Arthur spun around. He looked at Julian. He saw the switch.

"You," he snarled.

He raised the gun.

I swung the pot.

It connected with the side of his head with a sickening *thud*. Hot coffee sprayed everywhere. Arthur screamed, dropping the gun as he clutched his scalded face.

"Get the gun!" I shouted.

Julian dove for it. But the plane lurched as the first engine sputtered and died. We were thrown sideways. The gun skittered across the floor, sliding under the seats.

"Mayday, Mayday," the pilot's voice was calm, professional. "Dual engine flameout. We are ditching."

The silence was deafening. No roar. Just the rush of wind over the wings.

"Strap them in!" Julian yelled at me.

I scrambled back to the kids. Leo was crying. Sophie was frozen. I tightened their belts until they gasped.

"Head down!" I screamed. " elbows on knees!"

Arthur was on his knees, groping blindly for the gun. His face was blistering red.

"You killed us!" he shrieked. "You killed us all!"

"Sit down!" Julian shouted, wrestling him into a seat.

Arthur fought him. "I'm not dying here! I'm not dying in the ocean!"

He punched Julian in his wounded shoulder. Julian cried out, his grip loosening.

Arthur shoved him away. He lunged for the cockpit door.

"Open it!" he screamed at the pilot. "Land on the water! Land gently!"

The plane banked. The ocean filled the windows, a wall of blue rushing up to meet us.

"Brace!" the pilot yelled.

I covered the kids with my body. I closed my eyes.

*CRASH.*

The impact was like hitting concrete. Metal screamed. Water exploded through the windows. The world spun.

And then, silence.

I gasped, sucking in air that smelled of jet fuel and salt. The cabin was tilted at a crazy angle. Water was rushing in around my ankles.

"Leo? Sophie?"

"Mom?" Leo's voice. Shaky. Alive.

"We're okay," Sophie whimpered.

I looked forward.

Julian was slumped in his seat, blood running down his forehead. But he was moving.

Arthur was gone.

The cockpit door was open. The pilot was unbuckling.

"Get out!" he shouted. "She's sinking!"

I unbuckled the kids. I pushed them toward the emergency exit over the wing. Julian stumbled back to help me.

We shoved the door open. We spilled out onto the wing. The water was warm, shocking.

The plane was groaning, the nose already underwater.

"Where is he?" Julian asked, wiping blood from his eyes.

I looked around. Debris floated in the swells. Cushions. Luggage.

And then I saw him.

Arthur.

He was in the water, clinging to a piece of the fuselage. He wasn't swimming. He was flailing.

"Help me!" he screamed. "My leg! It's broken!"

Julian looked at him. He looked at the man who had tormented him, drugged him, and tried to kill his children.

He looked at me.

"Go," I said to Julian. "Get the kids to the raft."

The pilot had deployed the yellow slide-raft. Leo and Sophie were already climbing in.

Julian didn't move. He stared at his father.

"Help me, son!" Arthur begged. The water was up to his chin. "Please! I'll give you everything! The company! The accounts!"

Julian stepped to the edge of the wing.

"I don't want the company," he said.

He reached into his pocket. He pulled out his phone. It was wet, cracked. But it was waterproof.

He tapped the screen.

"I just sent the unlock code," he said. "To Elena's server."

Arthur's eyes went wide.

"No," he whispered.

"You're not erased anymore, El," Julian said, looking back at me. "You're back online."

The plane gave a final lurch. The wing dipped.

Arthur screamed as the suction pulled him under. He reached up, a clawed hand grasping at the air.

And then the ocean took him.

Julian watched the bubbles rise. He didn't reach out. He didn't look away.

He just stood there, the son of the Architect, watching the tomb close.

"Come on," I said, grabbing his hand. "We have a raft to catch."

We jumped.