Ava glanced at the myriad of buttons and switches, her mind a whirlpool of information organized with precision. When her mother, a decorated Air Force pilot, was alive, she often shared stories about flying. Ava absorbed every word, every anecdote, every technical jargon. It was their secret language, a bridge connecting mother and daughter soaring above the ordinary.

“Ghost Rider,” the term her mother affectionately used to describe herself when she piloted alone, was now Ava’s mantle. She was stepping into shoes far too large, yet her resolve was unwavering.

The air traffic controller’s voice crackled back through the radio, now tinged with urgency and disbelief. “Ava, this is Kansas City Center. We have you on radar. Can you confirm the status of your pilots?”

Ava took a breath, steadying her racing heart. “The pilots are unconscious due to a carbon monoxide leak. I need to descend to 10,000 feet.”

The controller’s voice softened, a calm amidst the storm. “Understood, Ava. We’re here to help. Can you manage the descent?”

With her heart pounding in her ears, Ava nodded to herself. Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind, guiding her movements. She adjusted the throttle and manipulated the yoke, initiating a slow, steady descent. The aircraft responded, tilting its nose toward the earth below.

The passengers, oblivious to the drama unfolding in the cockpit, remained strapped in their seats, some napping, others engrossed in their in-flight entertainment. A few, however, sensed the change in altitude and exchanged worried glances, whispering prayers under their breath.

Back in the cockpit, Ava felt the burden of almost 300 souls. She maintained her focus, her young mind a steel trap of concentration.

Minutes felt like hours. The controller continued to guide her, offering calm encouragement and technical advice, but Ava was in a different realm—one where time stretched infinitely, and every second mattered.

Suddenly, a flicker of movement caught her eye. First Officer Park stirred, groaning softly as consciousness began to reclaim her. Ava felt a surge of relief as the woman opened her eyes, confusion giving way to shock as she took in her young rescuer.

“Who…what…?” Park started, her voice hoarse with disuse.

“Ma’am, we need your help,” Ava said, her voice unyielding in its calm urgency. “We’re descending, but I need you to guide us for landing.”

The gravity of the situation hit Park like a lightning bolt. She shook her head, trying to clear the lingering fog, and took in the scene. An eleven-year-old was flying the plane, and doing an admirable job at that.

“Okay, Ava,” Park replied, her voice growing steadier. “I’m here. Let’s land this bird.”

Together, they worked in tandem, Ava’s hands still flying over the controls with Park providing the necessary instructions. The aircraft dipped below the clouds, and the Kansas plains spread out beneath them like a patchwork quilt, welcoming and vast.

As the runway came into view, Ava felt her chest tighten, but she didn’t waver. The landing gear lowered with a reassuring click, and the runway lights blinked a guiding path.

The wheels screeched as they made contact with the tarmac, bouncing once, then settling firmly onto the ground. A collective sigh of relief seemed to ripple through the aircraft as it taxied to a stop, emergency vehicles already racing to meet them.

Ava leaned back in the seat, the adrenaline finally ebbing away, leaving her exhausted but exhilarated. She had done it. They were safe.

The aircraft door opened, and the cabin filled with applause and cheers, a cacophony of gratitude directed at the little girl who had faced the impossible and won.

As Ava stepped out of the cockpit, her heart swelled with pride. She had become her mother’s daughter in every way that mattered.