He opens the back of the SUV, and I freeze, my good hand flying to my mouth.
There, laid out on blankets, is my father’s equipment. Not all of it—but enough to make my throat tighten.
“How—” The word breaks apart. I reach out with trembling fingers, afraid to touch anything in case it vanishes.
“I went to the tow yard where they took your truck,” Jonah explains, gentle in a way that makes my chest ache. “The manager let me go through what was left. I brought back everything I could that wasn’t completely destroyed.”
Jonah reaches inside and pulls out my lucky flannel shirt. The one that was my dad’s. The one I thought was gone forever.
“It was wedged under the passenger seat,” he says, holding it out to me. “It needs washing, but it’s intact.” I pull it against my chest, relief flooding through me.
I want to respond, but words fail me completely. Instead, I bury my face in the flannel, breathing in what’s left of my father, trying desperately not to break down in the middle of a motel parking lot with Lucas’s camera pointed in our direction.
“The main console is damaged,” he continues, giving me time to compose myself, “but I think it can be repaired. And some of the sensors are semi-functional. The data storage unit was built like a black box. Your dad knew what he was doing.”
“Did you find Stormy Daniels?”
“I didn’t, but a search and rescue worker did in a pile of rubble a mile away. He saw your name on it and came to the hospital with her remains.”
“She always did have a flair for dramatic endings,” I mutter. “Guess she finally committed to one.”
Jonah shifts, giving me a second before he speaks again. “I know she was your favorite. But, I didn’t want you stuck without a wingman.”
I crack one eye open. “Jonah, if you tell me you bought a replacement while I was unconscious?—”
“I might have taken the liberty,” he says, lifting a noticeably bulkier drone into view. “Top-tier model. Reinforced frame, shock-resistant, heavy-duty rotors—this thing isn’t just fast, it’s built like a tank. You could throw it at a tornado, and it’d probably ask for another round.”
I push myself up a little, eyeing it as it powers on with a deeper, steadier hum. It rises into the air without any flashy tricks. Just a solid, unshakable hover like it has nothing to prove.
I tilt my head. “Wow. That is aggressively sturdy.”
Jonah nods. “Considering how everything has been going lately, I erred on the side of caution and went bigger.
The drone adjusts in place, rock-solid, like the air itself would have to file a complaint to move it.
“It just needs a name.”
A grin creeps across my face. “Oh, I have one in mind, and it keeps with the naming tradition.”
Jonah groans. “I was afraid of that.”
I gesture toward the drone. “Look at it. Thick frame, not subtle in the slightest…” I pause, enjoying this. “…yeah. That’s Girthmaster.”
Jonah blinks. “I’m sorry—what?”
“You heard me.”
“Is that even a real person?”
“It is, but I don’t suggest googling him. It might break you,” I say, nodding toward the hovering machine. “If anyone can survive a couple rounds with a tornado…” I smirk. “…it’s Girthmaster.”
Jonah tries not to laugh. Fails. “I hate how much sense that makes.”
“Exactly. Stormy chased the storm. Girthmaster’s going to outlast it.” The drone hums low and steady, like it agrees with me.
I glance over at Jonah, a small smile settling in. “I can’t believe you did this all for me.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” he asks simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
