Page 135 of Viking

Would she still see the man she says she loves? Or would she see the truth—the fractures beneath the surface, the weight of every life I’ve taken?

It feels like an ending. Like we’ve closed another chapter in this endless cycle of missions and blood and fire.

Ryan’s chapter.

Live for us both, Logan.

But it also feels like a beginning. A reminder of why we keep fighting.

But mostly, it feels like loss. The kind that echoes within you and makes you question when enough is enough.

The F-22 hums steadily beneath me, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside me. I glance at the instruments, at the empty sky, and then ahead, toward the base that’s slowly being rebuilt and it feels symbolic.

And when you’re ready—really ready—find someone who makes you feel alive again.

Like maybe it’s not the only thing being rebuilt.

Langley AFB

November 24, 2024

11:50 p.m.

Lila

LOGAN: I'm coming home, sweetheart. I'll be back at noon on Sunday.

I read it again, feeling a bittersweet rush of emotions tightening in my chest.

He’s almost home.

I pull Logan’s flight jacket tighter around me, the cold of late November biting into my skin. The wind cuts through the base, and I can hear the distant whirl of engines warming up on the tarmac. There’s a chill to the air, the kind that makes me tug my sleeves a little further over my wrists, but the cold doesn’t matter as much as the anticipation running through my veins.

A handful of people gather near the hangar, bundled in coats and scarves, clutching homemade signs and balloons that whip and twist in the wind. A few kids bounce on their toes, faces flushed pink with excitement as they peer out at the runway. A woman next to me holds a toddler on her hip, her eyes glistening as she rocks side to side, murmuring to the child. I catch the words “Daddy’s almost home, baby.” It reminds me of Ivy and Hadley at Kyler’s homecomings. An older man, maybe a father or grandfather, leans against a truck, his weathered hands wrapped around a thermos, gaze never leaving the sky.

The energy is palpable. A collective breath held tight in every chest. Each of us tethered to someone in the air, hearts stretched thin across the miles, waiting for the moment they touch down. I shift on my feet, glancing toward the horizon, searching for any flicker of movement. The ache of longing sharpens, but beneath it is the unshakable knowledge that in just a little while, they’ll be here.

I hear the sound first, the low rumble piercing the quiet.

The very pulse of the base itself.

The eight Raptors look identical in the pale winter light, their sleek bodies gleaming against the overcast backdrop. The scent of jet exhaust hangs in the cold air. I shift my stance, moving slightly toward the fence as I watch the planes, my breath fogging in front of me with every exhale. They are silver ghosts against the gray sky, each one falling into perfect formation. Then they begin their descent toward the runway. The roar grows louder, vibrating beneath my feet. I feel the ground tremble and time slow.

Everything around me seems to disappear.

Except for the jets and the pilots who will bring them home.

I don’t even realize I’m holding my breath until I exhale, my eyes locked on the flight line. The pilots begin to climb out, one by one, their flight suits tight against their strong frames, their faces hidden beneath helmets.

I watch as each pilot removes his helmet and begins toward the waiting crew. Nick’s figure is the first I recognize, tall and confident, but my gaze immediately moves past him to the one I’m searching for.

Logan is moving slowly, more methodical than usual, as if each step requires more effort than it should. His face is solemn, his expression unreadable from a distance.

The cold, controlled mask firmly in place to hide the depth of everything else beneath.

He’s scanning as he walks, and then our eyes meet and the world falls away.

Logan’s pace quickens when he spots me, and I can’t help but move toward him as well. We’re running, and when we meet, he immediately pulls me into his arms. His chest is solid, his warmth spilling over me as I breathe in his familiar scent.