“If we’d lost you two,” Shamrock added quietly, “there’s not enough whiskey or time in the world that would’ve made a difference.”
Fly looked away, the words hitting him almost as hard as losing Mei. His jaw locked, throat tight, eyes burning as he stared at the far wall like it might hold him together if he didn’t move.
Than dropped his gaze, shoulders hitching once. His chest heaved, and he made a soft sound as he cleared his throat, the effort of keeping control visible for the first time.
The room held its breath.
Then Fly shook his head once, a brittle huff escaping him before he could stop it. With a soft, almost affectionate edge to his voice, he said, “Fuck you, Kavanaugh.”
Shamrock’s mouth curved, just barely.
Bolt let out a soft laugh. “Some things never change,” he said.
For the first time since the bay, something inside Fly loosened. Not the pain. Never that. Just the pressure of carrying it alone.
Shamrock set the bottle on the desk and stepped back toward the door. “We’ll be around,” he said. “You won’t have to ask.”
Fly took them in for another second, then looked at Bolt and asked softly, “How’s that lightning bolt working out for you?”
Bolt’s grin flashed quick and sharp, all bright teeth and something darker behind it. “Let’s just say it’s working as intended.”
“In other words, he’s getting more head than he can handle,” Shamrock said, smugly. “I don’t mind the overflow.”
The sound that came out of Than surprised all of them. A short snort, gone almost as soon as it appeared.
Fly felt the tension ease a fraction, like a knot loosening without coming undone. He didn’t smile exactly, but something in his chest unclenched enough to let him breathe.
When they were gone, the room felt different, warmer.
Than lay back down, eyes open now, but calmer. Fly sat where he was, shoulders easing a fraction.
Outside, the storm kept moving. Inside…the brothers held.
The chapel was full, but Than felt alone anyway. He sat between Bear and his mother, Bailee close enough on the other side that her arm brushed his when she shifted. The weight of Bear’s presence was solid, grounding, like a mountain at his back. His mother’s hand rested lightly on his knee, warm and steady. None of it reached the hollow place in his chest.
The stained glass caught the afternoon light and broke it into color across the pews. Blue. Gold. Red. Mei would have liked that. He thought of how she would have cataloged the angles, the refraction, the way the light bent without breaking. The thought almost undid him.
Fly stood at the lectern, clearing his throat.
Than didn’t look at him at first. He listened.
“Mei was working on a problem the week she died,” he said. “It wasn’t for a grade. It wasn’t assigned. She just thought it mattered.” He paused, eyes steady. “She was trying to reduce cavitation damage in shipboard pumps. Her only concern was that it would extend service life and reduce failure under load.”
A few heads lifted. Some nodded.
“It meant fewer breakdowns at sea. Fewer emergency repairs. Fewer sailors working exhausted in unsafe conditions.” Fly’s voice didn’t change. “She cared about the people who would never know her name. That was who she was.” He looked once at Mei’s parents. “The Navy didn’t just lose an officer. It lost someone who was already making it better.”
A faint smile touched his mouth, gone almost before it appeared. “Mei hummed when she worked,” Fly said. “She didn’t realize she did it. It was always the same tune. Something with a steady rhythm. She said it helped her think.” He let that sit. “If you ever heard that sound, you knew things were about to make sense. I think that’s how she moved through the world. Quietly. Making order.
“Mei didn’t lead loudly,” Fly said. “She translated complexity into clarity.” He folded his hands. “She made hard things understandable. She made dangerous things safer, and she did it without needing credit.” Fly nodded once. “That’s leadership. Even when no one is watching.”
Than swallowed and kept breathing.
Then a man in a Navy uniform rose from the front pew as he leaned down and spoke softly.
Captain’s bars caught the light as he turned. The movement rippled through the chapel, surprise traveling quietly from row to row. Than felt it too, a subtle shift, as Mei’s parents looked at each other, then nodded.
The man stepped to the lectern.
