Chapter 4
KAZ
Ican't get her out of my head.
The second that door slammed in my face, it should’ve been a signal to move on.
To treat it like a blown maneuver—shake it off and prep for the next run.
But I’m still replaying it. Her lips, soft and sweet like that damn lemonade.
The heat in her body when she kissed me back.
And the cold fire in her voice when she ended it.
This wasn’t just another conquest. I don’t want to admit it, but I know it. She’s different. She’s got my number, and I can’t stop dialing.
I throw myself into the morning drills like they’re combat. I’m up before first light, muscle memory taking over as I strap into the cockpit. My skin hums with leftover tension. I burn it out in the sky.
The range is brutal today—Nova made sure of it. The flight gauntlet includes rotating hazard zones, short-range jammers, and real-time interference that screws with HUD alignment. She’s not pulling punches.
Good.
The simulator dome launches me into the sequence with a screech of simulated ions.
I dive headlong into the mess, running the opening loop like it owes me rent.
Thrusters redline. Shields scream. Sweat beads under my collar as I roll and cut between marker buoys and pop two drone targets before the first corner.
I catch sight of her in the tower—arms folded, expression flat.
Judging.
Always judging.
I push harder. Cut a tighter turn. Juke through a heat bloom just for show. Every twist of my body, every twitch of the stick, is for her. I want her to see I’m more than a smirk and a tool belt. I want her to feel it in her bones when she watches me fly.
“Too hot, Kaz,” Swan warns over the comms. “You’re redlining your pitch axis.”
“I’m not done,” I grit out.
The last lap is a blur—narrowly avoiding simulated flak, weaving through collapsing nav markers.
I land with a shudder, heartbeat in my ears.
The stats load on my visor.
Second place.
Yoris beat me. Again.
By two-tenths.
I slam my fist into the control panel hard enough to jar my knuckles.
“You should ice that,” Swan says, catching up with me in the locker room. “Before you bruise up and Captain thinks you got in a brawl with your instrument panel.”
“It was worth it,” I mutter, yanking open my locker and stripping off my flight suit with too much force.
He leans in the doorway, arms crossed. “You’re not mad you came second. You’re mad she saw you come second.”
I freeze.
Swan grins. “It’s not hard to read you, man. You fly like a meteor, but when Nova’s in the tower, you fly like you’re trying to write poetry with afterburners.”
I shove my towel at him. “You done?”
“Almost. Yoris said something while you were stomping out of the bay.”
I turn. “What?”
Swan grimaces. “Something about you thinking with the wrong joystick.”
Heat rises up my spine like a flashfire.
“He say it to my face?”
“Nope. But loud enough for the hangar crew to hear.”
That’s it. I start moving.
Swan blocks me, palms out. “No, Kaz. I get it. He’s an ass. But you deck him and it’s your rank on the line.”
I grind my jaw. “He’s always baiting me.”
“Because you let him. Don’t give him what he wants.”
I breathe through my nose, try to reel it in.
Yoris isn’t the enemy. But today? He’s pretty damn close.
The mess hall smells like rehydrated stew and burned hopes. I push my tray through the line without tasting a thing. None of it matters. My brain’s still in the sky and my stomach’s still at her porch steps.
I scan the hall without meaning to.
And there she is.
Nova. Sitting with another instructor. Not a threat—just a lanky Alzhon with silver skin and too many lapel pins. She laughs at something he says, head thrown back, hair gleaming in the low light.
It guts me.
She’s not looking at me. Not sparing a glance. I’m invisible again, the cocky pilot who got a little too close.
I sit down across from Swan, tray untouched.
“Eat,” he says.
“Not hungry.”
“Drink something, at least. You look like you’re one sim away from spontaneous combustion.”
I take a sip of water and it tastes like metal.
Swan leans closer. “You like her.”
“I don’t—”
“You do.”
“I like flying.”
“Bullshit. You’re obsessed. You’ve been chasing First Ray like it’s the only thing that matters, but it’s not the title you’re chasing. It’s her.”
I look down. Can’t meet his eyes.
“Even if I was,” I mutter, “it’s over.”
“Then why are you still trying so hard?”
Because I want her to see me.
Because I want her to feel what I felt on that porch.
Because I’ve never cared this much about anything but flying, and now I’m crashing without a chute.
When I finally look up again, she’s gone.
The chair across from her sits empty, lemon slice still floating in her drink.
I don’t know if I lost something that day, or if this is just the beginning.
But I swear to the stars, I’m not done.
Not by a long shot.