But the vibration returned.
Longer.
Sharper.
And then, abruptly, a flight attendant rushed down the aisle without her shoes, her polished calm replaced by the unmistakable expression of someone fighting to stay composed while something deeply wrong unfolded only a few steps away.
Her name was Laura Bennett, and during eleven years of flying she had practiced emergency procedures so many times that she could recite them from memory even in her sleep. Yet practice could never fully prepare someone for the moment when an alarm inside the cockpit refused to stop screaming.
She stopped halfway down the aisle, gripping the headrest beside her as the aircraft shuddered slightly.
Her voice trembled when she spoke.