Page 36 of Viking

His voice had been steady, even when mine wasn’t. “Viking, you with me?” He hadn’t masked the edge of adrenaline beneath his usual easy confidence. “You’re pulling too hard on the stick.”

I had been flying too aggressive, burning energy I couldn’t afford to lose. The stars had been endless above us, the black ocean rolling far below, indifferent and infinite. I’d nearly overshot my turn, nearly left myself exposed. Nearly left him exposed in our simulated dogfight.

Reaper had laughed after I corrected, that reckless grin in his voice. “Damn, Viking. You trying to get us killed or just making sure I’m awake?”

I hadn’t answered. I’d just swallowed down the hard lump in my throat and focused.

“Shake it off and fly the jet,” he had told me.

And then, months later, he was gone.

And I was still here.

I flex my fingers over the throttle, forcing the memory down, locking it away where it belongs. The past doesn’t belong in the cockpit and hesitation gets you killed.

“Viking, you’re up,” Townsend calls.

I push the throttle forward, the roar of the engines swallowing everything else. The second the wheels leave the runway, I feel a small sense of relief. The air wraps around me, the ground falling away.

Up here, there’s no past. Only the sky.

Everything else can wait.

We climb fast, ripping through midnight’s embrace. The ocean stretches below, a void speckled with the occasional shimmer of moonlight on the waves. The comms stay mostly quiet, just brief check-ins, the occasional callout. I settle in, adjusting my formation, my breathing even.

Then Townsend calls the maneuver.

“Viking, break left on my mark, then rejoin.”

Simple. Routine.

“Mark.”

I roll left—too sharp, too militant.

The jet shudders beneath me, a warning, the edge of a stall creeping up faster than I expect. The g-force slams into my chest, stealing my breath for a split second. The world tilts too fast, the horizon skewing. My pulse spikes, instincts kicking in as I correct, easing off just in time.

It lasts less than a second. A blink.

But it’s enough.

Enough to leave my heart hammering. Enough to feel a cold sweat break along my spine. Enough to remind me how fast a simple mistake can become fatal.

“Everything good, Viking?” Townsend’s voice is calm, but I know he saw it.

I clear my throat, forcing my voice steady. “Yeah. Just overcorrected.”

There’s a beat of silence before Ryan cuts in, his voice edged with something I don’t want to name. “You sure? ’Cause that looked like a little more than overcorrection.”

I grit my teeth. “I’m good.”

But I don’t feel good.

Because I know exactly where my head was when I messed up.

It wasn’t here, in the cockpit. Wasn’t focused on the jet, on the flight, or on the sky stretching out before us.

It was back there.