Everything else—the doubts, the silence, the tension with Nova—it all falls away in the wake of motion and muscle memory. Iamthe ship. Every flick of my wrist, every breath I take, the machine responds like it’s wired to my veins.
I loop behind the last drone, lock-on tone flaring in my headset.
“One for luck,” I mutter, then fire.
Boom.
Target neutralized. Run completed. Timer stops.
The display blinks gold.
Best time. Best precision. Best run.
I exhale, chest heaving.
The hatch hisses open and the light slams into me like a spotlight on a stage. The hangar smells like grease, coolant, and ozone—home.
Swan’s waiting near the debrief station, arms crossed, half-grinning. He looks calm. Unbothered.
Too calm.
I pull off my gloves and walk over, heart still thudding like I haven’t landed.
“Well?” I ask.
“You flew like a lunatic,” he says.
“Thanks.”
“Also like a legend.”
I laugh, but it doesn’t last.
There’s something in his eyes—quiet. Still. Like water just before it freezes.
“You okay?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Yeah. Just thinking.”
“Dangerous habit.”
“Only if you make a habit of not listening to what you think.”
I frown. “You’re being weird.”
He looks down. “It’s just… I know what this is. What itmeans.First Ray’s not just a promotion. It’s a death sentence dressed in a commendation. And I didn’t think I’d get this far.”
I want to say something. Make a joke. Deflect.
But he keeps going.
“I’m proud of you,” he says. “And I mean that. I just hope you know what you’re flying into.”
I try to smile, but it sticks in my throat.
“Yeah,” I say finally. “Me too.”
Later, we drink in near silence.
