“I thought,” he said carefully, “that he might not see you clearly. And that you might give too much to someone who wasn’t going to stay.”
She stepped toward him, stopping just short of the footlocker. “He’s staying.”
Mike met her eyes. “You believe that?”
“I do.”
He nodded once. “Then you’re not the one who needs convincing.”
Shannon didn’t move.
Mike stepped past her, crouched down, and rested one hand on top of the footlocker. “Take something of hers with you. You’ll want it more than you think. I’ll bring it up to your room.”
Shannon stared at him for a long moment before she walked into his arms and hugged him.
“You take care of yourself, baby girl. Stay safe.” He hugged her tightly. “I’m proud of you, Shan.” He pressed his lips to her forehead, placed something in her hand and closed her fingers around it. “Lock up when you leave. Dante is still downstairs. He’ll take you to the airport.”
She watched him leave and opened her palm. It was a pair of his wings.
The door clicked shutbehind her as she stepped into her bedroom.
It looked the same as always. Her bed was made military-tight. The wooden dresser had a hairline crack along the side where she kicked it in anger. The small bookshelf still had the same titles:Flight Theory,The Art of War,Ender's Game, and her mother’s copy ofThe Right Stuff, worn at the spine.
She changed into her uniform, crossed the room and lifted the footlocker onto the bed. She didn’t bring it up; her father did before he left. He carried it like it was still heavy, even though it wasn’t. The weight had never really been about the steel or the contents inside.
Shannon stood over it for a moment, hands braced on the edges. Then she opened it. The hinges let out a soft metallic sigh.
Inside, everything was still there, all folded with precision. A pair of worn leather gloves. A set of aviator sunglasses scratched at the rim. A faded photograph of two pilots in flight suits, standing on a tarmac in Okinawa. One of them was her mother, grinning like hell. A small tin of lavender balm was still sealed. But what caught her eye was the scarf.
Tucked underneath the gloves, it was navy blue, silk, barely worn, with a tiny embroidered wing near one edge. Her mother never wore it on base. It wasn’t standard issue. But Shannon had seen it once, in a photo. It was wrapped around her neck beneath a flight jacket. Just a hint of softness in all that steel.
Shannon picked it up and sat on the edge of the bed. The scarf slipped like water between her fingers. She turned it over in her lap.
Her mother had deployed wearing this. Maybe not every mission, but enough to hold meaning. Enough for Shannon to wonder now, sitting in the same uniform, what it meant to carry something soft into a world designed to break you.
She didn’t cry or get sentimental. She just folded the scarf with care and slid it into the small inside pocket of her duffel. It was the one no one checked.
Then she stood, zipped the bag closed, and looked around the room. There wasn’t much else to take. Everything she needed, she already carried. On her shoulders and in her lungs.
She grabbed her orders from the desk and tugged the zipper on her jacket just past her collarbone. Then she paused in the doorway. It didn’t feel like leaving a room. It felt like stepping out of someone she used to be. And into someone new.
The rideto the airport wasn’t long, but it stretched anyway, not with tension, just silence.
Shannon sat with her duffel in the back seat. Her boots tapped lightly on the floor mat. Her body always wanted something to do when her mind was this still.
Dante drove one-handed, eyes forward, sunglasses reflecting the late-morning glare off the pavement. He hadn’t asked if she needed anything. He hadn’t filled the silence with music. He just let her be in the space without asking her to explain it.
As they pulled up to the departure curb, Shannon’s breath came a little shallower. He eased the SUV into park.
Shannon reached for the door. Dante grabbed her duffel, setting it down gently on the curb. The airport entrance loomedbehind her, all glass, steel, and quiet bustle. Other people were saying goodbyes here too. She ignored them.
Dante looked at her. “You good?”
“I’m fine.” And she was, mostly.
He studied her face like he didn’t quite believe it but wasn’t going to challenge it either.
She looked away. “You don’t have to stay.”
