BANKS:pics
JACE:be careful. we like this one.
ME:Roger.
The test range is quiet,snow blanketing the concrete in uneven patches. Wind slices in from the ridge like it’s looking for trouble.
Riley stands just ahead of me, eyes locked on her tablet, shoulders squared like she’s got something to prove—which she does. Not to me. To whoever tried to hijack her drone.
She walks me through the locked code again, double-checked, verified, squeaky clean.
“You sure you want to do this?” I ask. “You’ve got nothing to prove.”
She lifts her chin, stubborn and fierce. “Oh, but Ido. Someone twisted my work to hurt people. They don’t get to hide behind my name.”
The drone waits on the pad, ready to launch. Riley touches it the way some people touch family heirlooms—gentle but fierce, with this weird kind of affection. She talks to it like it understands.
And maybe it does.
“Locked build,” she calls. “Logging begins now.”
Major Chen nods. “Proceed.”
The drone lifts off. Steady. Beautiful. Everything works like it’s supposed to. I’ve seen a lot of tech—but watching her code do what it’s meant to do? It’s like watching a rescue happen before the first call is even made.
It hovers. Adjusts for wind. Glides like it owns the air.
Then… something’s off.
The first sign is small. A delay in response. A twitch at the edge of the turn.
Riley frowns, taps a quick check. Her diagnostics say it’s fine. But I don’t trust it.
“Riley,” I say, voice low.
“I know,” she says, already moving.
The drone tilts its nose and shoots toward the fuel truck like it’s found a target. Riley sends a kill command. The drone ignores it and speeds up.
“EMP ready?” I call.
My guy nods. “Charged.”
And then instinct takes over.
I grab Riley and pull her down, cover her with my body, one arm over her head. She’s tense but doesn’t fight me this time. My chest is pressed against her back. I breathe in the scent of her—coffee, solder, something soft underneath it all. My pulse steadies because that’s what I do.
I protect.
“Now,” I call.
The EMP pops like thunder. The drone twitches, folds, crashes into the snow just feet from the fuel truck.
Silence.
Then the laughter—nervous, relieved, real.
“You okay?” I ask softly, still not moving.
