Page 99 of Viking

I stiffen. Ryan’s slot.

“You’re replacing Captain Carter,” I say quietly, the words heavy on my tongue.

His easy smile falters, confusion flickering in his deep blue eyes. “Replacing him?”

“He was killed,” I say softly, the ache in my chest intensifying. “A few months ago.”

Wells’s face falls, and he straightens slightly, a shadow crossing his expression. “I didn’t know,” he says, his voice subdued. “I’m…damn, I’m sorry. What happened?”

“An attack on a base overseas. South China Sea,” I say, my throat tightening.

Wells exhales slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Shit. I heard about that but didn’t realize…” His gaze drops for a moment, genuine sorrow softening his features. “I’m sorry. That’s…that’s rough.”

“Yeah,” I whisper, my eyes falling to the papers scattered on my desk. Ryan’s laughter, his relentless optimism, his stupid jokes—they feel so far away now.

Wells hesitates before speaking again, his voice quieter. “Did you know him well?”

“I did,” I say simply, my throat tightening.

His eyes linger on me, his expression contemplative, like he’s piecing something together. I shift under his gaze, uncomfortable with the way he’s looking at me—like he sees more than I want to reveal.

“And Captain James?” he asks, the name hitting me like a punch to the gut.

I nod, fighting to keep my expression neutral. “He’s deployed right now.”

“Yeah, they’ll be home next week,” Wells says.

I wince. Asher did not divulge this in yesterday’s meeting.

“We have a lot of work to do,” Wells continues, oblivious to my inner turmoil. “James and I have our first demo together in Florida in a few weeks. I’ve never been a demo pilot. Shit’s a different animal.”

So I’ve heard.

“Do you know Logan—I mean, Captain James?” I ask, stumbling over his name.

His lips curve into a smirk at my slip up, understanding flickering in his eyes.

“Never met him,” Wells says, his tone lightening. “But Viking’s a legend among Raptor pilots. Everyone talks about him like he’s Superman or something.”

I’m not your hero.

Logan’s broken voice echoes in my mind like these words were spoken yesterday instead of months ago.

I force a small smile. “He’s a good pilot.”

“Good?” Wells scoffs, crossing his arms. “He’s the best. I’ve heard stories—insane stories—about his flying. The way he moves that jet…they say he flies that thing like it’s hardwired into his veins. That’s the goal, right?” His eyes light up with admiration. “I’ve watched footage, tried to learn his maneuvers. Hell, I’ve even heard that Top Gun instructors talk about him. They say he’s one of a kind. Bet that drives those Navy boys crazy.”

My heart twists, pride and pain warring inside me. Of course, Logan would be the best. He never does anything halfway. I open my mouth to respond but nothing comes out.

“Guess I’ve got some big shoes to fill,” Wells says, his cocky grin returning as he gestures to the airfield. “Think Bravo will let me show off a little?”

“I think you’ll do well,” I say, my voice tight as I try to keep the conversation professional. But the words feel hollow. He’s here because Ryan isn’t.

Wells’s grin widens, and he gives me a mock salute. “Well, Miss Mercer, it’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

I nod, fighting to maintain my composure. “You too, Wells.”

As he walks out, his confident stride echoing down the hallway, the ache in my chest deepens. He’s charming, I’m sure he’s talented and every bit the golden-boy pilot. But he’s not Ryan. And he’s definitely not Logan.