Mike nodded slowly. “Yes.”
“Dad, I want to fly Black Hawks,” she said. “Like Mom did. I want to finish what she started. I want to walk across that stage as Shannon McKenna Johnson.”
Mike’s jaw clenched as he stepped closer, took her hand, and let out a quiet breath. “Then we do this carefully. You heal. We stay quiet. Chase Security will work behind the scenes. You let me and Ford deal with the brass.”
“I don’t want special treatment.”
“You’re not getting it. You’re getting a shield. You’ll still have to walk through fire. You just won’t have to do it alone.”
Shannon’s voice barely broke the air. “Was she watching too?” A pause. “Mom.”
Mike shook his head. “She’d never let this happen. Not to anyone, let alone you.”
Shannon’s eyes stung, but she blinked the tears back. “It wasn’t just a mission to her. It was... us.”
Sam leaned forward, eyes wide. “You’re really going back?”
Shannon looked out the window. Dawn was rising, pale and cold, over the Denver skyline. “Yes. Because no one gets to take that from me.”
Mike leaned forward, not touching her but closer. “I’m proud of you. But that doesn’t mean I’m not furious with myself.”
“You don’t have to fix this.”
He looked her dead in the eye. “I’m going to try anyway.”
Another silence. Then she said what neither had dared to voice until now. “I didn’t want this legacy. But I’m not giving it back.”
Mike nodded once. “Then I’ll help you carry it, whether you want me to or not.”
She let the words settle. Very quietly, she said, “Thanks, Dad.”
THIRTEEN
AIR FORCE ACADEMY – THREE WEEKS LATER
The wind off the Rockies was sharp and dry. Her breath caught in her chest as she stepped out of the van. The Academy hadn’t changed. But she had.
She stood a moment at the foot of the dorm stairs, duffel over one shoulder, uniform trim but looser than she remembered. Her limbs still ached when she woke up. Her lungs felt like they were always catching up. But she was back.
That mattered more than how fast she could run.
The reentry briefing was short.Chase Security negotiated her return on clean terms. There would be no mention of disciplinary records, no behavioral flagging. The Academy didn’t want a lawsuit, and they definitely didn’t want press.
Dante waited outside the gym for her first evaluation. His uniform was pressed. A clipboard rested under one arm. His only greeting was, “You’re five minutes early.”
She lifted her chin. “You’re surprised?”
“No,” he said. “Just confirming the baseline.”
She followed him inside without another word. He didn’t ask how she was feeling. He didn’t mention the ravine. He didn’t soften anything.
She finished the warm-up circuit, slow but steady. Her heart rate was elevated and her breathing tight. But there was no shaking or gaps.
He watched her quietly, taking notes but not pushing. After the final stretch, he checked her form. “You’ll need four weeks of work. Then we test out.”
She nodded.
“You ready to earn it?”
