Logan
Langley AFB
The crisp autumn air bites at my face as I step onto the tarmac.
It’s not cold enough for a jacket, but the wind whipping across the flight line carries enough of a chill to make me wish I’d grabbed one.
My boots echo against the concrete as I walk toward the hangar, each step heavier than the last.
It feels different, being back here. Not in the obvious ways—I knew coming home would be an adjustment.
I knew I’d have to walk onto this base again, knowing Ryan never would.
I knew I’d have to look my team in the eye after months of being grounded, after months of clawing my way back to being mission-ready.
What I wasn’t ready for was the unease. The way my gut tightens at the thought of seeing her.
Lila’s here somewhere. Maybe even in this hangar.
I don’t think she knows I’m back and I have no idea how to handle that.
I tell myself it doesn’t matter, that I have more important things to worry about, but my pulse betrays me, kicking up as I step inside.
The hangar is alive with movement—airmen checking over jets, voices bouncing off steel walls, the thrum of machinery filling the space. The familiarity of it all should settle something in me.
It doesn’t.
There’s no sign of Lila.
Townsend texted me this morning: Briefing at 0900. Don’t be late.
No heads-up, no details. Classic Townsend.
I should be focusing on the upcoming demo, on getting back into a rhythm after months overseas, but there’s a weight in my chest I can’t shake.
Maybe it’s because I’m expected to fly demonstrations without Ryan.
Maybe it’s because I know that when I walk into the briefing, everything will be different.
And then I see him.
He’s tall—maybe an inch or two taller than me, six-two, maybe six-three. Broad shoulders fill out his flight suit, dark blond hair cut just within regulation. He’s standing with Dalton and Townsend, laughing at something one of them said.
His grin is easy, his posture relaxed.
Like he belongs here.
My jaw tightens as I walk up, pushing my sleeves up my forearms, trying to ignore the tension winding through me. Townsend spots me first, his expression shifting from casual to careful.
“James,” he says, like he’s bracing for impact.
“Who’s this?” I ask, my voice even, but clipped.
The guy steps forward, extending a hand. “Captain Wells Bennett,” he says, voice smooth, self-assured. “Saint. Just transferred from Elmendorf.”
I glance at his hand, hesitating, and then taking it. “Transferred to do what, exactly?”
Townsend clears his throat, stepping in before Wells can answer. “Saint’s joining the demo team. He’ll be flying Ryan’s position.”
The words land like a punch to my ribs.
I knew someone would take his spot eventually. I knew it wasn’t realistic to think they’d leave it empty. But hearing it out loud? Seeing the guy they picked standing right in front of me?
My stomach twists.
“You’re replacing Ryan,” I say, my voice low.
Wells’s easy confidence falters. “I’m not—”
“You are,” I cut him off, sharper than I should. “That’s what this is. You’re taking his slot like he’s just…just some empty seat to fill.”
Townsend exhales, stepping in. “James, that’s enough.”
I barely hear him. “You didn’t think to tell me?” I snap, turning on him. “You let me walk in here and find out like this?”
“We were going to tell you,” Townsend says, voice tight. “But the team has to move forward. You know that.”
“Forward,” I echo, laughing without humor. “Right. Is that what we’re calling it now?”
Wells holds up his hands, voice calm but steady. “Look, I didn’t know Captain Carter. I didn’t know—”
“No, you didn’t,” I cut him off again. “So don’t stand there and act like you understand what he meant to this team. Or to me.”
Dalton shifts beside him, tension flickering in his expression. “Viking, chill. Saint’s not the enemy here.”
I know that. But grief doesn’t give a damn about logic.
Wells doesn’t argue. Doesn’t defend himself. He just watches me, like he’s waiting for me to figure my own shit out.
I clench my fists, force a breath, and step back. “I need air.”
I turn on my heel and push out of the hangar, the cold air hitting me hard. I drag a hand down my face, trying to breathe through the chaos in my head.
Take care of the flight, Logan.
I lean against the side of the building, tipping my head back, staring up at the sky. The wind carries the faint scent of jet fuel, something that used to be comforting. Right now, it just makes it harder to breathe.
Footsteps approach. I don’t have to look to know who it is. “What do you want?” I ask, voice rougher than I mean it to be.
Wells stops a few feet away, giving me space. “I get it.”
I scoff. “Do you?”
His voice stays steady. “I do. I’ve lost people, too.”
Don’t let my ghost hang around.
I clench my teeth but say nothing.
“I’ll never be Carter,” he continues. “I’m not trying to be.”
I finally look at him, really look at him. There’s no arrogance in his expression, no cocky bravado. Just sincerity.
“I didn’t ask for this assignment,” he says. “I didn’t know about Carter. But I’m here now, and I’m not going to apologize for doing my job. Being a demo pilot is a damn honor.”
I suck in a breath, my anger still there but dulling at the edges. None of this is his fault. He’s just trying to do the job he was given. Same as me.
“I don’t like this,” I say finally.
Wells smirks. “That makes two of us.”
Something almost like a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth, but I don’t let it win.
“Don’t fuck up, Saint.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, turning back toward the hangar.
I watch him go, the ache still lodged deep in my chest.
Ryan’s gone. That truth doesn’t get softer with time, it just settles in deeper. Some days it’s heavy enough to crush me. But not today.
Because I’m still here.
And so is Lila.
I’ve spent too long convincing myself I wasn’t worthy of her. That what happened to Ryan, to Reaper, was too big—this wall between us I could never climb. But maybe I’ve had it backward all this time. Maybe what happened was supposed to wake me up, not shut me down.
I don’t want to keep surviving and calling it living.
She’s the only place I’ve ever felt like more than just a pilot. More than call signs and mission briefs and ghosts in my head.
With her, I’m just…me. And for the first time since our paths crossed, I’m starting to believe that might be enough.
It’s time to stop hiding behind guilt and grief.
Time to stop making excuses.
Time to go after what I want.
It’s time to find her.
And see if she’ll let me stay.