Joan doesn’t speak for a moment. Vanessa has lived so long with this feeling, the full obliteration of everything except Joan’s voice, the need to hang on her every word. “Houston, do you read?”

“We read you, Navigator. We are seeing on our end that all four latches are not closed.”

“I do not believe they will close, Goodwin.”

“Roger that,” Joan says.

“Can the ship survive reentry with eight latches out and two gaps, one each toward the forward and aft bulkheads? By visual assessment, we have at least a centimeter vulnerability along the centerline.”

It’s quiet again. But Vanessa understands it all perfectly. Joan does not want to lie to her.

“Navigator,” Joan says after a while, in a tone that is terrifyingly firm. “We are not confident that the shuttle is viable with that many latches out. We do not believe it will withstand the heat of reentry. We need you to start from the beginning again, tightening each latch as much as possible, starting with the forward bulkhead latches. We believe that some degree of tightening at the beginning will offer significant potential to pull the doors back into alignment.”

Vanessa’s heart begins to race. “Houston, if I start over and try to tighten each latch again, we are going to miss our deorbit opportunity.”

“Navigator, that is correct.”

“Can Griff and Lydia make it another rev?” Vanessa asks.

She is met with silence.

“Houston, do you read? When is the next deorbit opportunity? Will Griff and Lydia make it if we miss this one?”

“Navigator,” Joan says finally. “We need to update you about the crew.”

There is a sense of agony within Mission Control—no one is saying very much. Jack is standing right behind her, and Antonio is standing to the side of the entrance. Everyone else is slumped in their seats. Joan cannot bear to meet anyone’s eye.

“Which one of them is it, Goodwin?” Vanessa asks, her voice rising.

Joan can’t get the words out of her mouth.

“Is it Griff or Lydia?” Vanessa asks again.

Griff had once told Joan that he had worried he’d peaked too early. That he’d been too popular in high school. And didn’t that mean that it was all downhill from there? Joan had laughed and put her head on his shoulder. “Maybe you’re just going to keep getting better,” she’d said. “Did you ever think of that?” “No,” he’d said. “I don’t buy it.”

“It’s Griff,” Joan says into her headset. “He died seventeen minutes ago.”

Vanessa says nothing.

“Ford…” Joan says. “We’re so sorry.”

I’m so sorry. I’m so scared of what happens next.

“Goodwin,” Vanessa says, finally. “Are you okay?”