Mr. Esten cleared his throat, took the envelope from his wife and set it on the table. “We found this in her locker. She wrote it the week before she died. It was addressed to you.”
Shannon’s hand shook as she reached for it. Inside was a photo, a selfie of Mara with Shannon in the background, squinting at the sun, both in flight suits. On the back, she’d written,We’re not the same. She’s better. Just don’t tell her I said so.
Shannon folded it and pressed it to her chest. Tears ran silently down her face. She let them.
The door closedwith a whisper-soft click. Dante stood in the hallway just outside the conference room, leaning against the wall like he'd been carved there, waiting for the moment to be over before it even began. Inside, the quiet had lasted twenty minutes. Maybe more.
The way Shannon was holding the photo in her lap when they brought her out, not looking at it, just touching the edge like she needed to remind herself it was real, said more than anything could. She didn’t speak as the nurse wheeled her back into her room. She didn’t speak as the door shut behind them and the curtains were drawn against the glare of the midday light.
She sat on the edge of the bed, the photo still in her hand.
Dante waited a beat, then another before he walked in. He crossed the floor, crouched in front of her, and laid one hand gently over hers.
Shannon looked down. Her eyes were dry now, but it was the dangerous kind of dry—the quiet before the shatter.
“I can’t make it make sense,” she said, voice small. “I keep trying to… spin it, reshape it, break it down like a mission. But it wasn’t that clean. It was messy. Personal. She’s gone because of a vendetta.”
Dante didn’t correct her. Didn’t offer platitudes. “And you’re here because you didn’t let it stop you.”
Shannon shook her head. “She died thinking we had it handled.”
“She died thinking you were worth fighting beside,” he said quietly.
Her mouth trembled as he gently took the photo from her fingers and set it down on the nightstand. Then he slid onto the bed beside her. Her shoulder sagged slightly against his, and when his arm moved around her, slow and solid, she didn’t flinch.
“I hate that I lived,” she whispered. “I know I shouldn’t say it, but…”
“You don’t have to be brave here.”
She looked at him, hollow-eyed.
“You’re not in the cockpit right now,” he said. “You’re not in a briefing. You’re not on mission. You’re a human being who lost someone.”
Shannon leaned into him fully now, head pressed into his shoulder. For a long time, neither of them spoke.
Softly against his shirt, she whispered, “Don’t leave.”
Dante kissed the side of her head. “I’m right here.”
FORWARD CHASE BASE – SAHEL REGION
The heat didn’t let up with nightfall. It just changed shape from skin-searing sun to choking humidity that clung to every breath.
The mobile operations tent was packed. Portable fans buzzed. Flies tapped against the mesh. Bottled water sweated on the folding table in front of Sean Paulsen, who stood at the head of the team, sleeves rolled, field shirt stained with hours of dust and dried blood.
Two more of Bravo were still under medevac. Roadie had taken a round through the calf during the site pullout. Callow had a collapsed lung from the blast that took out their southern flank.
But they’d made it back with something. And more than they expected. The crate on the table was open, filled with foam-packed satellite gear, embedded microdrives, and three undetonated missile platforms with stripped serials.
Marcus “Friend” Chandler paced the edge of the tent, boot treads leaving dust trails. “They weren’t just staging. They were testing.”
Joseph “Red” Canal leaned over the crate. “This targeting software’s NATO format. But someone’s rewritten the fire control. Look at this, they’re in Portuguese, Russian, Arabic… and a custom overlay in French.”
Phillip “Crown” Lynch looked up sharply. “French Colonial units. Mali and Niger. Sahel corridor.”
Sean’s brow furrowed. “This doesn’t feel black market. Too clean.”
Sabra stepped forward, voice taut. “They weren’t preparing to move this. They were preparing to use it.” She dropped a thermal still on the table.
