Jamie’s eyes locked on the side door, its frame braced with two heavy crates now trembling with each jolt of the waves. One of them had begun to inch forward, the metal latches rattling softly. His pulse thudded in his ears.
“They’re right beside us,” he murmured, as if speaking louder might draw them in.

Noah didn’t answer—he was straining to hear it too.

Then came the sound.
A muted thump.
Another.

Jamie’s stomach tightened.

“They’re testing us,” Noah said, his voice low, measured. “Figuring out how easy it’ll be to get on.”

The next impact was harder, reverberating through the cabin. Then came a long, scraping drag along the fuselage—slow, deliberate—like someone hauling something heavy across the metal skin of the plane.