“Hang on. What are you…You’re not thinking about taking this thing?” I say, my words dripping with disbelief.

“Absolutely,” he says like it’s the most obvious conclusion in the world. “Unless you would rather fly commercial and risk being detected? This is actually best-case scenario.”

“But who’s going to fly it?” I ask, unable to wrap my mind around this plan, which is galaxies outside my comfort zone.

“We’ll just have to wing it,” he says, tossing the wooden blocks up into the plane and pulling the barn doors completely open.

“We’re definitely not winging it,” I blurt out.

“Relax, November,” Ash says with a good-natured grin. He’s suddenly his usual easy self and somehow I’ve gotten more uptight. “I’ve been flying planes since I was eight. And with something like this, it practically flies itself.”

He heads up the stairs and turns on the lights.

I follow him. “Holy…,” I breathe as I look around the small plane in awe. There are two recliners with a big flat-screen TV, a small dining table, and a bed. Maybe Ash was right; maybe this is best-case scenario.

Ash goes right to the cockpit and turns the plane on with ease. While he’s pushing buttons he hands me the padlock from his pocket. “I’m going to roll this plane out of the barn, if you wouldn’t mind locking up. Just make sure to wipe our prints off.”

I nod, taking the cold metal lock and climbing back down the steps. I look up at the old hayloft I used to play in, barely visible in the moonlight, and I sigh, overcome by a pang of sadness. Goodbye, Em. Goodbye, Pembrook. I suddenly wish it were light so that I could log the details of it better. But the tail of the plane clears the doors and there is no more time to consider what this moment might one day mean to me. Instead, I pull the barn doors shut and wipe the lock down, careful to erase all signs that we were here.

I jog up to the plane, still struggling to reconcile this experience with my quiet hometown. I climb up the steps, pull the hatch shut, and take the empty seat in the cockpit. I look at Ash, who is confidently pushing controls on the complex dashboard, and I’m undecided if I’m in awe of him or simply overwhelmed.

“Did you find anything else…” I swallow, immediately conjuring the memory of the thud of the Strategia’s landing and the blood slowly pooling under his head, dripping down the side of the rock. “Did you find anything else on the Strategia in the woods?” I fasten my seat belt, fighting back the sick feeling that’s rising in my throat. “Anything besides the key?”

“I did,” Ash says, and glances toward me, pausing for a split second. “He had a Lion tattoo on his shoulder.”