Page 76 of Viking

The reticle pulses. I squeeze the trigger.

The M61 Vulcan screams to life, spitting out 20mm rounds at 6,000 rounds per minute. They slice through the Russian-built jet like it’s made of paper.

The canopy explodes. The fuselage shreds. The plane jerks sideways, spewing fire and smoke, trailing debris as it spirals toward the earth.

The mission control frequency is a mess of voices, shouting, ordering me to RTB, to leave Reap, to get back. But how do I just leave him here? He was supposed to eject. He was supposed to make it.

But he didn’t.

And I did.

It should've been me.

I don't remember landing. I don't remember getting out of the jet. All I know is the crushing weight in my chest, the way my knees finally give out when I'm alone. My head hits the locker, my fists curled so tight my nails dig into my palms, drawing blood.

He saved me. And I let him.

I let him die.

"I'm so fucking sorry," I whisper to no one, to him, to the ghost I’ll carry for the rest of my life.

Hampton, Virginia

June 21, 2024

1222

Logan

I’m unraveling, and I know it.

I’ve never lost control like this. Not in the cockpit. Not in a fight. Not even after Reaper went down.

But now? Now, I’ve ripped open wounds I swore I’d keep stitched shut and I can’t stop the bleeding.

One minute, it was contained—shoved into the box in the back of my mind, the one I know is there but never touch. The one filled with things I don’t let myself feel. Lincoln. Ryan. My own fucking failures. The next minute, the words were out. And now they’re hanging between us like an execution order.

I look at Lila, and her silence rips through me worse than her tears. I don’t deserve her heartbreak. I don’t deserve her softness. And yet, she’s still here, still looking at me like I’m something worth saving.

And that’s when I lose it.

I push to my feet before she can touch me. “I can’t do this,” I bite out, my voice fraying at the edges. My fingers rake through my hair, hard and sharp, like I need the sting. I pace, tight and restless, like a storm trapped inside my skin. “I can’t stand here and let you—” My voice cracks. I grind my teeth against the burn in my throat. “Let you look at me like that. Like I’m still worth anything.”

“You are,” she whispers.

And it fucking kills me.

I spin around and close the space between us in a heartbeat—too fast, too desperate. Her scent—vanilla and something softer, sweeter—hits me. Like I’m coming home to a place I’ve never deserved.

“Don’t,” I snap, the word rough and broken. “Don’t try to fix me, Lila. You can’t fix this.”

Her chin lifts, defiant, fierce. “I’m not trying to fix you, Logan. I’m trying to love you.”

Those words crack me wide open.

Before I can stop myself, I’ve got one arm locked around her waist, pulling her to me with a force that borders on reckless. She gasps, and it’s not fear, it’s need. A mirror of the chaos tearing through me. I crush my mouth to hers like I’m trying to drown in her, trying to erase everything else with the feel of her lips, the taste of her tongue. She doesn’t flinch. She gives back exactly what I need. Fire for fire.

We stumble, her back slamming into the wall, my good hand braced beside her head, the other one useless in its sling. Her breath hitches, her body trembling under my touch, but she doesn’t pull away. She clings to me, even as I come undone.