(POV: Amelia)
The engine finally shut down.
The steady roar that had filled the cockpit faded, replaced by a silence that felt… wrong.
Too quiet.
Like something had been there for too long—and now it was just gone.
I didn't move right away.
My hands were still on the controls, fingers holding position—like we were still in the air.
Like it wasn't over yet.
But it was.
"Atlas-1, shutdown complete."
My co-pilot's voice pulled me back.
I nodded slightly. "Copy."
I removed my headset, went through the final procedures the same way I always did.
Automatic.
Precise.
Safe.
Usually, that was enough to steady me.
Not today.
Something was still there.
Something I couldn't fix with a checklist.
As I stepped down from the aircraft, the cold air hit my face. The familiar scent of fuel and heated metal lingered—but today, it felt different.
Sharper.
Heavier.
Like it was reminding me—
I had almost lost control.
My boots hit the tarmac.
Ground.
That should have been enough.
But my body still held the tension.
And my mind—wasn't done yet.
Another engine cut through the air behind me.
Lighter. Faster.
I didn't need to look.
But I did anyway.
The F-35 landed clean.
Perfect alignment. No hesitation.
Controlled.
Like its pilot.
I looked away before it fully stopped.
No reason to watch.
I started walking.
Focusing on things that made sense—reports, procedures, routine.
Things I could control.
Things that didn't involve him.
"Thorne."
I stopped.
Just for a second—
but enough to break my rhythm.
I took a slow breath before turning.
Kai Dawson stood a few meters away.
No helmet.
Hair slightly messy.
Posture relaxed—too relaxed.
Like nothing had happened.
But his eyes—
still sharp.
Still watching.
Always watching.
"Dawson."
My voice came out steady—quieter than I meant it to.
We held each other's gaze.
And just like that—
too much came back.
Cranwell. Simulators. Competition that never really ended.
And something else.
Something I had never allowed myself to name.
He looked away first.
Small.
But I noticed.
"You okay?" he asked.
Simple. Direct.
No edge.
That alone felt strange.
"I'm always okay."
Automatic.
He let out a quiet breath. Almost a laugh.
"Yeah," he said. "I know."
Not mocking.
But not believing it either.
And somehow—
that unsettled me more.
Silence settled between us.
Not awkward.
But not easy either.
Like there was too much there—and no clean way to say any of it.
"I almost lost control back there."
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Too honest.
Too exposed.
He looked at me differently then.
Closer.
And for the first time—
there was no challenge in his eyes.
No mockery.
Just… concern.
"You didn't lose control," he said calmly. "You reacted late."
The words hit—
pulling me straight back.
Cranwell.
Simulator room.
Dim lights. Screens glowing.
My hands gripping too hard.
"Too late," Kai's voice had said.
"I'm still within limits," I answered.
"In a simulator, maybe," he said. "In real airspace, that's already failure."
Scarlett stood off to the side, tablet in hand.
Quiet. Always watching.
She never interfered.
Never needed to.
"You both know what you're doing wrong," she said. "You just like arguing more than fixing it."
Then Cavanaugh—
sharp voice cutting through everything.
"If you can't work together, you won't fly together."
I exhaled quietly, returning to the present.
"Thank you," I said.
Soft.
Real.
Kai stilled.
Like the words didn't quite belong between us.
"Don't make a habit of it," he said.
Light tone.
But softer than before.
I raised an eyebrow slightly. "Wasn't planning to."
A small shift at the corner of his mouth.
Almost a smile.
For a second—
he didn't feel like my rival.
I looked away first.
Easier that way.
"The wind wasn't in the briefing," I said.
He nodded.
"Because it wasn't the main concern."
I glanced at him.
His expression changed—more serious now.
"This mission isn't routine."
I didn't answer.
I already knew that.
"The equipment you're carrying isn't just logistics," he continued. "The forward base needs it operational fast."
I nodded slowly.
Which meant one thing—
I had been late.
Just a second.
But enough.
"That's why I stepped in," he added.
His voice dropped.
Quieter.
Different.
"Don't be late again."
Then—just like that—
the edge softened.
Familiar again.
I shook my head slightly. "Just this once."
Silence returned.
Not sharp.
Not comfortable either.
Something in between.
Something forming.
"I need to file my report," I said finally.
Safer ground.
He nodded. "Yeah."
But neither of us moved.
A few seconds passed.
Too long.
I didn't know why I was still standing there.
Why I hadn't walked away.
Maybe because something wasn't finished.
Or maybe—
because I knew—
if I left now…
this moment would be gone.
And I wouldn't get it back.
Finally, I turned.
My steps steady.
Controlled.
Like always.
But this time—
I understood something I had spent years ignoring.
The past doesn't disappear.
It waits.
And today—
it started coming back.
And what unsettled me the most—
was that I wasn't sure I wanted it to stop.