He looked up, offering a knowing nod. “You look like a pilot who forgot how to keep her feet on the ground, Phoenix.”
I didn’t answer right away. I looked across the base housing toward the perimeter where I knew Christopher was catching the school bus. Then, I looked back up at the sleek, lethal grace of the fighter jet.
I walked over, ran my gloved hand along the cold aluminum fuselage, and made my decision. I wasn’t just going to direct tactics from a desk anymore. I was going to teach the next generation—including my son, when his time came—that you don’t have to run from your past to protect your future. You just have to learn how to master it.
“Vance,” I said, stepping up to the ladder with a steady breath and a renewed sense of purpose. “Sign me up for the afternoon checkout flight. It’s time Valkyrie went back up.”
The Final Approach
The twin-engine trainer cut through the piercing blue Nevada sky, carving arcs over the sun-baked desert below. Inside the cockpit, the familiar HUD symbology glowed against the glass, and the steady roar of the jet wash hummed through my bones.
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