The plane shudders violently, throwing you sideways against the seat. Panic spikes in your chest, sharp and hot, and you can hear Jackie’s voice next to you, calm but insistent.

“Hold on,” she says, gripping your arm like she means it. Her eyes are wide, scanning the cabin, calculating, taking in every movement of the plane as if she could control it by sheer will.

The engines roar, a deafening scream that drowns out everything else. You clutch the armrests, knuckles white, and the oxygen masks drop. Jackie snatches one for herself first, then practically shoves another into your face.

“Put it on,” she commands, her tone sharp but urgent. “Now. Don’t fight it.”

You obey, fumbling with the straps as the plane dips, sending a wave of nausea through your stomach. Jackie steadies herself, breathing slow and deliberate, almost eerily composed. “We’re going to survive this,” she says, more to herself than to you, but the confidence in her voice is contagious.

Another jolt hits, throwing luggage from the overhead bins. The plane lurches, the cabin tilting like it’s underwater, and you hear someone scream somewhere behind you. Jackie leans closer, voice low but firm.

“Hey. Look at me. Focus on me. Not the plane. Me.”

Her eyes lock on yours, sharp and unwavering. There’s no fear there, only calculation - like she’s already running through the steps, planning who moves where, who holds on, who doesn’t panic. You try to match her gaze, to anchor yourself in that intensity, and somehow it steadies you just enough.

The plane tilts again, a terrifying, stomach-dropping lurch, and you hit the ceiling with a thud. Jackie grabs your shoulders, holding you tight. “Not letting go,” she promises, and even in the chaos, there’s a strange comfort in the certainty of it.

Everything shakes. Metal groans, the roar is deafening, and for a split second it feels like the world is ending. Then she leans into your ear.

“Whatever happens, you survive. You hear me? Survive. That’s the rule. You follow me.”

The plane shudders violently one last time before tilting, twisting, and then - there’s nothing but the rush of wind, the screech of metal, and the terrifying weightlessness as you’re thrown together into the unknown.

Jackie’s hand finds yours mid-flight, gripping it like it’s an anchor to reality. You can barely breathe, heart hammering, lungs burning, but there’s her voice again, cutting through the panic.

“You’re still here. Hold on. Just hold on.”

The world tilts, shatters, and you cling to her like a lifeline. She doesn’t scream. She doesn’t panic. She just… sits.