"Can you hear me, miss?" Kincaid asked, reaching up to the canopy sill. "I hear you fine," she said. Her voice was remarkably steady, smooth, and delivered in unaccented, Midwestern American English that sounded as if she had grown up in an Ohio farmhouse. "You don't need your axes. I'm not trapped in here." "Then let's get you unbuckled and down onto the ground before something cooks off," Sheriff Caldwell said, stepping up to the cockpit rim, his badge catching the glare. "I'm Sheriff Frank Caldwell, Sandoval County. Who are you, young lady, and whose airplane is this?" The girl offered a faint, enigmatic half-smile but nothing in the way of answers. "What you see is what you get, Sheriff." "She's in shock," Kincaid declared, reaching in to release her shoulder harness. The heavy webbing snapped free. "Come on, miss. Swing your legs over the side. Lean on my shoulder." But the girl didn't move. Her expression remained entirely neutral. "I can't," she said plainly. Kincaid frowned. "What do you mean you can't?" Kincaid’s demeanor shifted from cautious firefighter to gentle medic. "Did the crash break your back? Where does it hurt?"