“I’m Captain Logan Washington,” he said. “Skipper of the USS Ardent, where your daughter, friend, and classmate would have begun her career.”
Than’s breath caught.
“Midshipman Harada had a mind built for the sea,” the captain continued. “Her professors spoke of her as one of the finest engineering students of her class. She was already earmarked for advanced engineering duty following her first tour.” The captain paused, just long enough for the weight of that future to settle. “We were eager to welcome her aboard Ardent,” he said. “Quiet leadership is rare. Steady leadership, rarer still. Midshipman Harada carried both with grace. She didn’t lead with volume. She led with clarity, kindness, and conviction.”
Than stared straight ahead, jaw tight, hands locked together.
“Her absence will be felt not only by all of you,” the captain said, “but by the sailors who would have served under her, and by the Navy she was destined to strengthen. She represented the best of what we hope for in future leaders.” The captain’s voice softened, just a fraction. “The Navy grieves today for a brilliance that will never reach its full horizon. I am truly sorry for the loss we have all suffered.” He lifted his gaze. “Fair winds and following seas, Mei.”
The words moved through the chapel like a tide. Bailee pressed closer to him. His mother’s grip tightened on his knee. Bear’s presence didn’t shift, but Than felt the acknowledgment there, the shared understanding of what had been lost.
The rest of the service passed in a blur of hymns and quiet murmurs. When it ended, Than stood, but didn’t step forward. He didn’t look up. He sang where he was, the sound low and steady, built from breath and memory rather than words. It should have been accompanied by a drumbeat, but it seemed fitting that there was nothing but the chant. An honor song. Plain. Unadorned. It moved through the chapel like something older than grief.
It didn’t last long.
When he finished, he bowed his head once and sat.
For a heartbeat, everything was quiet.
Mei’s mother’s hand rose, pressing against her mouth as a sound escaped her raw, bereft, agonized. Her shoulders folded inward, and she leaned forward, grief spilling through the careful composure she’d been holding since the bay.
Mei’s father reached for her, pulling her close, his own jaw tight as he held her while she wept.
No one moved.
No one rushed to fill the space.
The song had ended, but its meaning remained.
Than stayed still, eyes lowered, hearing her grief without turning toward it. That was part of the offering too.
Finally, people stood, embraced, spoke in low voices. Than stayed seated until the chapel began to empty. He approached Mei’s parents near the doors, the noise of the world slowly returning around them.
Mei’s mother reached for him, her grip on his hands firm despite the tremor that still lived there. “I didn’t understand the words,” she said quietly. “But I understood exactly what you were giving her.” She squeezed his hands once, then released them. “Thank you for honoring her like that.”
He nodded. “Hécha wašté.” It was good. “I have something to ask,” he said quietly. He explained about the cuff links. The buffalo. Embedding one of them in her headstone. A piece of him, of who she had been to him, set into the stone that would mark her place in the world.
Than’s request sat in his chest, hard and final. He needed this the way he needed his next breath.
Mei’s mother listened without interrupting. When he finished, she let out a shuddering sigh, tears already tracing quiet paths down her cheeks. “I knew what you meant to her,” she said softly. “I can see just as clearly that you felt the same way.” She swallowed, steadying herself. “My daughter didn’t keep secrets from me. I knew shortly after she did that she fell for you. In her way, she listed all the reasons she couldn’t take those steps yet.”
Than’s throat tightened.
Her hand came to rest on his forearm, warm and sure, fingers closing gently. “She loved you,” Mei’s mother said. “Deeply. Don’t ever doubt that.”
The words struck him with a force he hadn’t braced for. He bowed his head, breath catching once before he mastered it again.
“I was with her when she picked out those cuff links,” she continued. “So…God, yes. I’ll take care of that for you.”
She held out her hand.
Than opened his fist and let the buffalo cuff link fall into her palm. It felt like surrendering something vital, like giving up a piece of himself he would never get back.
Mei’s mother closed her fingers around it, then leaned forward and placed a soft, gentle kiss on his cheek.
“Take care…both of you,” he whispered.
“The same to you, Than,” she said quietly. Her gaze lifted. “And Fly.” Her voice didn’t waver. “Fair winds and following seas.”
