The girl had perished at the age of six. Her funeral had been conducted with solemn grace, and her name had been dutifully carved into the cold stone of a memorial wall. Yet, when both pilots slumped into unconsciousness at 38,000 feet, an eleven-year-old girl walked toward the cockpit and uttered two words that caused seasoned F-22 fighter pilots to freeze in mid-air: Ghost Rider. The dead had returned.
Ava Morrison occupies seat 14C, the middle seat in the economy cabin of United Airlines Flight 892. She is eleven years old, though she looks smaller, her stature slight and unimposing. Her dark hair is pulled back into a simple, practical ponytail, keeping it clear of her face. She wears clothes that are clean but undeniably worn, hand-me-downs that Uncle James had scavenged from various thrift stores to ensure she never stood out in a crowd.
