Amara climbed onto the armrest beside Richard Hawthorne, pressed two fingers to his neck, and whispered something under her breath. Then she did something that made the flight attendant go pale. Because a little girl from the back of the plane shouldn’t know how to save a billionaire’s life… Unless she’d learned it the hard way. And when Richard finally opened his eyes again, still shaking…

She almost froze.

Because she was ten.

And she was terrified.

But then she remembered her mother’s voice.

“Baby, sometimes God puts you in a moment because you’re the only one brave enough to act.”

Amara pushed.

Hard.

The pen tube broke through.

Air rushed.

Richard’s body convulsed violently, like life was fighting its way back in.

He coughed.

A wet, choking cough.

Then another.

And suddenly his chest rose with a deep, ugly breath like a man surfacing from underwater.

The cabin erupted.

“Oh my God!”

“He’s breathing!”

“Jesus!”

The flight attendant’s hands flew to her mouth, tears spilling instantly.

Richard Hawthorne gasped again, eyes snapping open in horror.

His gaze landed on Amara.

He stared at her like he couldn’t process what he was seeing.

A child.

A little girl with worn sneakers and shaking hands.

Saving his life.

Amara backed away slowly, her knees weak.

She expected someone to yell at her.

To tell her she did something wrong.