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The parking lot is busier than usual, and one of the hangar doors is open when I get out of the truck. Our P-3 is inside with maintenance carts and equipment still scattered around her while people move beneath the wing and around the fuselage getting everything ready.

The second I see the airplane, my pulse picks up, and I can’t keep the grin from pulling at my mouth as I sling my bag over my shoulder and head toward the building.

The whole place is moving faster than normal. People cross between the hangar and operations with folders and tablets in their hands, conversations happening on the move while phones ring somewhere inside. Nobody looks rattled. Everybody’s just getting ready to work.

This is what we do.

I make a quick stop at the locker room to change, shove my clothes into my locker, and zip my flight suit before heading into operations.

Ruth is everywhere once I step into operations. The wall displays are split between satellite imagery, the latest recon, forecast tracks, and the newest advisory, and I catch pieces of conversations about the amended tasking as I cross the room.

Someone near the printers is going over a flight plan. A maintenance tech passes me with paperwork tucked under one arm, and farther down, somebody calls a question across two workstations without ever stopping what they’re doing.

Colston is already here, leaning over Des’s workstation with one hand braced on the desk while they look at something on his screen.

He glances up when he sees me coming. “Goldie girl good?”

“Yeah. Everyone showed up before I left.”

His mouth pulls into a grin. “All of them?”

“Pretty much.”

“Good.” He straightens and looks back at the screen. “Figured they would.”

I set my bag beside an empty chair and move closer to Des’s workstation. He has the latest Air Force recon pulled up next to the satellite loop, and Ruth’s eye looks even cleaner than it did before I left St. Pete.

Des glances up at me. “You see the new advisory yet?”

“Not yet.”

Colston’s grin immediately gets wider.

I look at him. “What?”

He tips his chin toward the screen.

I follow his gaze to the advisory and stop when I see the classification at the top.

Category Five.

Holy shit.

I lean closer to the screen, one hand braced on the edge of Des’s desk while I read through the newest numbers. I knew she was headed there. So did Colston. But seeing that Five beside Ruth’s name makes me grin.

My first Five.

The unmistakable click of a phone camera goes off beside me.

I turn my head.

Colston lowers his phone with a giddy little laugh. “Oh, that one’s going in the group chat.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“You should see your face.”

“Delete it.”