Ivy
Langley AFB
The sound is everywhere.
Nick’s voice flows evenly over the loudspeaker, calm and controlled, as if narrating physics-bending maneuvers is the most ordinary thing in the world. “Now watch closely as the Raptor demonstrates its incredible thrust vectoring capability…”
The jet on the left climbs sharply, nose pitching higher and higher until it feels like it should stall, like gravity should intervene, like something this heavy shouldn’t be able to hang suspended in open air with nothing but raw power holding it there.
My fingers curl tighter around the warm metal railing.
“Which one is Dalton?” I ask, squinting hard enough that my eyes start to water from the brightness.
“The one climbing,” Lila says confidently.
“That doesn’t help,” I mutter, because they are both climbing now, crossing paths so seamlessly it’s impossible for me to keep track of who’s who.
Hadley is practically bouncing between us, her small sneakers hooked into the bottom rail as she leans forward as far as her little body will allow. “GO DALTON!” she shouts at the sky, cupping her hands around her mouth.
Several people nearby smile at her enthusiasm, and I feel something warm expand in my chest even as anxiety twists tight beneath it.
The Raptors separate with perfect precision, one streaking low along the show line while the other disappears momentarily into the glare of the sun before plunging back into view at an angle that makes my stomach drop.
I inhale sharply.
“That’s normal,” Lila says gently beside me, reading my reaction too easily.
“I don’t think you know what normal is, Lila,” I giggle-whisper.
She laughs. “Okay, well it’s normal for the demo.”
“When do they do a low pass, Li? I want to send a video to Wells,” Alinna asks, holding her phone up to take a picture.
“Nick will kind of warn us, but I’ll tell you, too.”
Nick continues narrating with composed authority, explaining high-angle passes and energy management and maneuver envelopes.
The words blur together because the only thing my brain wants to focus on is the fact that Dalton is inside one of those machines, moving faster than anything my body can comprehend, trusting engineering and training and instinct to keep him safe.
“That one’s Logan.” Lila points at the jet that suddenly pitches into a vertical climb so aggressive it draws an audible gasp from the spectators around us.
“Start recording now, Lin.” Alinna does just as the second jet—Dalton’s—races by doing a pass so low and so fast it takes my breath away.
“That was Dalton.” Lila smirks. Heat shimmers in his wake, the thunder of the engines following a heartbeat later, reverberating through my ribs like a second pulse layered beneath my own.
I beam despite the tension coiled tightly in my chest. He’s incredible.
It’s beautiful.
Terrifying.
Mesmerizing.
Every pass feels impossibly low, every turn impossibly tight, every maneuver forcing my heart into my throat before releasing it again as the jet pulls safely out of the dive.
Hadley squeezes my hand at one particularly dramatic maneuver, her excitement overriding any fear. I bend down and scoop her into my arms. “They’re superheroes,” she announces confidently.
I smile at her, kissing her rosy cheek and brushing windblown hair back. “Yeah,” I murmur softly. “They kind of are.”
The final sequence builds with deliberate pacing, Nick’s voice tightening slightly as he describes the closing maneuvers.
The crowd senses the shift too, conversations quieting, attention focusing entirely on the sky as both aircraft reappear low on the horizon, fast enough that they seem to materialize rather than approach.
They streak past in tight formation, close enough that I can see the faint shimmer of heat trailing behind them before they break apart in perfect symmetry, climbing into mirrored vertical arcs that leave pale ghost lines against the blue.
The applause begins before they even level off.
It swells quickly, thousands of hands clapping, voices cheering, phones raised high to capture the final pass as the jets descend toward the runway.
I don’t realize I’ve been holding my breath until it rushes out of me all at once. “He did it,” I whisper, more to myself than anyone else.
Relief spreads warm and dizzying through my chest, quickly followed by a bright spark of excitement that feels almost electric beneath my skin.
Dalton’s first demo.
I want to tell him how amazing it was even though I barely understand what I just watched. I want to see that crooked, slightly disbelieving smile he gets when something matters more to him than he lets on.
I want to kiss him again.
The thought arrives suddenly and stays, vivid and persistent, replaying the feeling of his arms around my waist, the steady confidence in the way he didn’t hesitate even with everyone watching.
Lila is already half working, half watching, her phone moving quickly as she responds to messages and checks notifications. “I need to head toward the media line,” she says, glancing between her screen and the crowd beginning to shift toward the rope line.
“Go,” I tell her. “We’ll see you soon.”
“Do you care if I run to the car really fast?” I ask Alinna. “I forgot Hadley’s sunscreen in the backseat.”
The sun feels stronger now, warmer against the back of my neck.
“Of course not, want us to go with you?” Alinna says easily, resting a gentle hand on Hadley’s shoulder.
“No it’s fine, I’ll be right back,” I promise.
The walk toward the parking area feels strangely quiet compared to the energy near the flightline. The roar of the crowd fades into something softer, distant announcements drifting across warm air that smells faintly like asphalt baking in the sun.
My pulse still hums with leftover anxiety and adrenaline.
It’s not that I doubted Dalton—I didn’t.
I just hadn’t realized how different it would feel to watch someone you’re starting to…
really care about do something inherently dangerous, knowing how easily something extraordinary can become tragic.
I find my SUV quickly, digging through the tote bag in the backseat until my fingers close around the familiar plastic bottle.
I shut the car door and start back toward the sound of the crowd, already imagining Dalton stepping down from the jet, helmet tucked beneath his arm, that quiet confidence still clinging to him like heat.
I wonder if he felt nervous before takeoff. If he thought about the kiss. If he’ll do it again without overthinking it this time. The memory makes warmth bloom low in my stomach.
I round the end of the row—and everything inside me goes still.
The blue Honda sits three rows over.
Dull paint. Slight dent near the rear bumper. New Jersey plates.
Unremarkable.
Except that I’ve seen it before. Once is a coincidence. Twice is maybe a coincidence. Four times is not.
My grip tightens unconsciously around the sunscreen bottle.
It could belong to anyone.
Families are everywhere today.
Hundreds of cars.
Thousands of people.
My chest tightens anyway.
My sandals scuff softly against the pavement as I continue walking, forcing my pace to remain steady even as something uneasy begins to unfurl slowly in the pit of my stomach.
The parking rows feel longer than they did a few minutes ago. Quieter, too.
I glance back over my shoulder at the Honda.
The car door opens.
The sound slices through the stillness with unnatural clarity.
My heart is beating so loud I can barely focus.
I look behind me again. Someone steps out of the car.
I can’t see their face yet, only the shape of a figure moving deliberately around the front of the car.
My breathing turns shallow without my permission.
You are at Langley.
You are safe.
There are security forces everywhere.
Families everywhere.
People everywhere.
My fingers tingle faintly. The sunscreen bottle feels slippery in my grasp.
The figure moves closer, footsteps measured and unhurried, like they have nowhere else to be.
Like they know exactly where they’re going.
My heart begins to pound hard enough that I can feel it in my throat.
Air doesn’t seem to reach the bottom of my lungs.
I try to inhale deeper. It catches halfway in.
My vision sharpens strangely, focusing too tightly on small details: the crack in the asphalt near my foot, the glint of sunlight on the windshield, the hollow sound of my own pulse rushing loudly in my ears.
I take a small step backward. My heel catches slightly on uneven pavement. The world tilts. My hands start to shake.
It’s probably nothing. Probably someone heading toward another car. Probably coincidence. Except when I look behind me, they’re walking toward me. Each step measured. Intentional.
My lungs constrict further, panic building slowly, steadily, like rising water filling space inside my ribcage.
I try to draw a full breath. It won’t come.
The edges of my vision begin to blur, dark creeping inward like ink spreading across paper.
My fingers go numb. The sunscreen slips from my grasp, hitting the pavement with a dull plastic sound that feels strangely distant. The figure is close now. So close.
Sound distorts, the distant hum of the airshow warping into something hollow and unreal.
I try to move. My body doesn’t respond the way it should. The ground seems suddenly much closer than it should be.
Or maybe I’m already falling.
My shoulder brushes the side of a parked SUV, the metal hot even through the thin fabric of my dress.
My heartbeat is so loud it drowns out everything else.
My lungs burn.
I can’t—
I can’t—
The last thing I see is scuffed black boots filling my vision as darkness rushes in fast and absolute.
Then nothing.