[s9e5] Leave Your Emotions — At The Cabin Door

The plane hit a pocket of dead air, dropping five hundred feet in a second. Screams erupted from the cabin. Oxygen masks tumbled from the ceiling like yellow plastic ghosts.

For twenty minutes, the aircraft was a metal tube of absolute, practiced coldness. No one cried because no one had the permission to. They were all holding their breath, suspended in a vacuum where emotion had been surgically removed. [S9E5] Leave Your Emotions at the Cabin Door

When the wheels finally chirped against the tarmac in Santiago, the silence didn't break immediately. It lingered until the engines began their low, mournful whine down to a halt. The plane hit a pocket of dead air,

Elias reached over and switched off the master battery. The cockpit went dark. For twenty minutes, the aircraft was a metal

“Airspeed’s decaying,” his co-pilot, Miller, whispered. Her knuckles were white on the yoke. This was her first trans-continental flight since her father’s funeral, and Elias could see the tremor in her hands.

“Whatever you’re carrying—the grief, the fear, the 'what-ifs'—leave them at the cabin door,” Elias commanded. “Right now, you aren't a daughter or a person. You’re a series of calculations. If you feel, we fall. Do you understand?”