The hatch hisses open. I swagger out, wiping my brow.
“Too easy,” I say loud enough for her to hear.
Nova doesn’t flinch. “Your second pass through the mines was three seconds slower than your first. You lost ground.”
I blink. “Most cadets wouldn’t survive that gauntlet.”
“You’re not most cadets,” she says flatly. “Or are you?”
I open my mouth, close it. She doesn’t wait.
She turns and walks off. Helmet tucked under one arm like a queen cradling a skull.
I should be annoyed. Instead, I’m intrigued.
Later, back in the ready room, she corners me. The rest of the cadets are filtering out, buzzing with debriefs and complaints.
“You,” she says, jabbing a finger at me. “One-on-one. Sim pod. Now.”
My brow arches. “Getting personal already? Didn’t know you cared.”
“You want to impress me? Earn it. Beat me in a one-on-one sim. You win, I’ll go to dinner with you.”
I freeze. This... This is new.
“And if I lose?”
She smirks. “You come repaint my porch. Shirtless optional.”
Laughter erupts from Swan behind me. “You are so screwed.”
I don’t even hesitate. “Deal.”
I’ve never lost a head-to-head sim match. Ever.
But five minutes into this one and I know I’m in trouble.
Nova flies like shebreathesit. No hesitation. No flash. Just lethal grace. She cuts through the course like a blade, her maneuvers impossibly tight, her offense unrelenting. I dodge, fire, dive, but I’m always one breath too late, one pulse off her tempo.
She loops behind me in a hard G bank and tags my tail with simulated cannon fire.
Sim kill.
It’s over in under six minutes.
I rip my helmet off inside the pod and let out a low, hoarse laugh. Not bitter. Not angry. Just... impressed.
No one’s ever flown me like that.
I climb out. She’s already walking away.
“I like eggshell white for the trim,” she calls without turning.
I just stand there, stunned and grinning like an idiot.
And, yeah.
Maybe losing to her was the most fun I’ve had in months.
