Page 129 of Viking

“Primary target is clear,” Daniels responds, his tone less strained now. “Advancing. No resistance so far.”

I exhale slowly, but the tension in my chest doesn’t ease. Nothing about this mission has been smooth. My eyes sweep the ground below, the compound now a smoldering ruin.

“Saint, Viking,” Dalton’s voice cuts through the comms again, sharper this time. “Incoming fast movers, two o’clock high. Looks like they’ve got heat seekers locked.”

My blood turns cold, adrenaline dumping into my system like a jolt of electricity. “Raptor Flight, defensive maneuvers! Break now!” I bark, shoving the stick forward as the threat warning blares in my ears.

I pull into a steep climb, the g-forces slamming me into my seat, but it’s not enough. My radar display lights up with two red blips.

One of them locked squarely onto me.

Hampton, Virginia

November 21, 2024

10:50 a.m.

Lila

The briefing room smells faintly of burnt coffee and jet fuel. I have learned this is the unofficial scent of demo team life. The mood is light. The kind of calm that comes after the storm that is air show season. Bravo is in the middle of a season recap even though they only performed half of it.

Asher leans back at the head of the table, his boots crossed at the ankles, the sleeves of his flight suit pushed up. “All right,” he says, drawing out the words as he twirls the pen like a baton. “Let’s talk about Elmendorf. Someone”—he cuts a glance to Clark—“decided altitude was more of a loose suggestion during the heritage flight.”

Clark throws his hands up, grinning. “It was a creative interpretation of the flight path.”

“Creative?” Porter barks a laugh. “You do realize we don’t get bonus points for dramatic flair, right?”

“I was adjusting!” Clark protests, dark blue eyes glinting with mischief. “And I recovered, didn’t I?”

“After Camden nearly blew a gasket over comms,” Owen adds with a shake of his head looking from Clark to Asher. “Pretty sure I heard you threaten to rip the stick out of Addison’s hands mid-flight.”

Asher aims his pen at Clark like it’s a weapon, but his grin says he’s only half serious. “I just didn’t feel like explaining to command why one of my pilots became a human lawn dart.”

“Would’ve gone viral though,” Clark says, fighting a smile and failing.

Porter snorts. “So would your court-martial.”

Laughter ripples through the room and I know I should be smiling along with them. So I do, to play the part. But my heart isn’t in it. My fingers toy with the edge of my notebook, folding and refolding a corner until the paper’s about to tear. My gaze keeps slipping to my phone.

Still nothing from Logan.

It’s not unusual. He warned me before he left, no news is good news. But there’s a difference between no news and this silence. Something about it feels heavier, like the ominous, gray stillness before a hurricane when you can almost convince yourself it’s not coming.

“Lila, want to fill us in on outreach?” Asher asks, his boots hitting the floor with a thud.

I click my pen and turn the page in my notebook, glancing over at Clark spinning slowly in his chair like a bored teenager and stifle a laugh. “Sure, let’s go over the stats. And since you all apparently only come alive when you’re going Mach 1, I’ll keep it moving.”

Owen grins. “You’re the only one who could say shit like that to us without getting tackled.”

“Noted,” I say, resting my chin on the top of my hand and batting my lashes at the guys. “I’ll abuse the power responsibly.” I flip to the next page in my notebook. “So. We completed forty-two community outreach events across twenty-three show locations.” I pause, letting the number sink in. “That includes visits to schools, youth centers, children’s hospitals, VA clinics, STEM expos, local air museums, and on-base family events. We gave out over 3,000 patches, participated in eight STEM-focused panel discussions, and signed probably a million posters.”

Porter whistles. “That’s insane. Didn’t realize it was that many.”

“Sounds about right, my hand was cramping up at the last show,” Clark mumbles, still spinning in slow circles.

“Stop before you puke,” I mutter, rolling my eyes playfully. “Cherry Point and Nellis had the biggest turnouts. Over 250 kids at Cherry Point’s youth center alone. Alpha was mobbed—Logan actually had a kid ask if he could fly the Raptor home.”

Asher chuckles. “What’d James say?”