(POV: Amelia)
Kai Dawson had always been the one variable I could never predict.
And now—
he was too close.
The sky outside the cockpit hadn't changed.
Still calm. Still steady. Still exactly how I liked it.
The kind of sky I could trust. The kind that stayed within control.
But this morning…
something wasn't right.
"Atlas-1, maintain altitude."
"Copy."
My voice came out clean. Flat. Controlled.
Like nothing had shifted.
Like I was still exactly where I needed to be.
I wasn't.
Ever since his voice cut into the frequency—
something inside me had slipped.
Not much.
Just enough to notice.
Just enough to matter.
And that alone was already a problem.
Kai Dawson was no longer a memory I could keep buried.
He was here.
Real.
Close.
Too close.
I fixed my gaze on the instrument panel.
Speed steady. Altitude aligned. Systems perfect.
Everything under control.
Except me.
*Just making sure you don't get lost again.*
The words came back.
Uninvited.
Sharp.
Too familiar.
My jaw tightened before I could stop it.
Cranwell.
One mistake.
Small. Insignificant.
But enough for people to notice.
Enough for him to notice.
And of course—
enough for that smile.
That stupid, quiet smile.
Somehow worse than mockery.
Because he never needed to say anything.
He just remembered.
"Lost."
It had never been just a joke.
It lingered.
A reminder—
that I had been wrong.
And he had seen it.
I pulled in a slow breath. Held it. Let it out carefully.
Focus.
That was the past.
It should stay there.
"Atlas-1, adjust two degrees. Northwest wind."
His voice again.
Calm. Easy.
Like none of this mattered.
"I see it, Dawson."
Too fast.
I knew it immediately.
Too sharp.
Too reactive.
A mistake.
A small one—but still mine.
Silence followed.
Long enough for me to feel it.
"Copy. Just making sure."
Light. Casual.
Like this meant nothing.
And somehow—
that bothered me more.
I forced my attention back to the instruments.
This isn't about him.
This is about control.
And I don't lose control.
I glanced out through the cockpit glass.
The sky stretched endlessly. Empty. Wide.
But I knew he was there.
Right behind me.
Close enough to disrupt.
Never far enough to ignore.
"Shadow-1."
The word slipped out before I could stop it.
"Yes, Atlas-1?"
Too quick.
Like he'd been waiting.
I hesitated.
It should've been simple.
But for a second—
I didn't know what to say.
"I need more distance. Your formation is too close."
Professional. Reasonable. Safe.
"Negative. Optimal position for protection."
Immediate. Firm.
Of course.
Kai had always been like that.
Too certain.
Too close.
Too… much.
I tightened my grip slightly.
"You don't need to be that close, Dawson."
My voice stayed controlled—
but something underneath slipped through.
Something I didn't like.
Silence.
Longer this time.
Then—
"I know."
I paused.
That wasn't what I expected.
No teasing. No edge.
Just… quiet honesty.
"I'm not here to get in your way, Thorne."
My grip tightened again.
Barely.
But enough.
"This is my job."
The cockpit suddenly felt smaller.
Heavier.
And for the first time—
I had nothing to say.
Because this version of Kai—
I didn't recognize.
And that made everything worse.
If he had stayed the same, I would've known how to deal with him.
But this—
this wasn't something I could control.
I drew in another breath, forcing everything back into place.
"Maintain position."
Flat again.
Professional.
Like nothing had happened.
But I knew—
nothing had gone back to normal.
I stared straight ahead.
The sky stretched endlessly in front of me.
It should have calmed me.
It always did.
Just not today.
Because for the first time in years—
my focus wasn't just on the mission.
Not just on the flight path.
Not just on control.
It was on him.
And that was a problem.
Not a small one.
Not something I could push away with a single breath.
It pressed deeper than that—
against everything I had built.
I clenched my jaw.
No.
This wouldn't become anything.
It wouldn't.
I had come too far.
Built too much.
I wasn't going to let him—
someone I had already erased once—
undo all of it.
No.
But somewhere deeper—
somewhere I had spent years avoiding—
I knew.
Something had already shifted.
And like turbulence you never see on the radar—
you don't feel it fully…
until it's already too late to avoid.