Dalton
Langley AFB
The runway rises to meet us in a blur of heat shimmer and precision timing.
My hands feel steady on the controls, muscle memory taking over as the adrenaline hums through my bloodstream.
The world narrows to airspeed, glide slope, spacing.
Even after the controlled chaos of the demonstration, the familiarity of the landing sequence feels almost mindless compared to the last forty-five minutes.
“Nice and easy,” Logan’s voice comes across the radio, calm as ever.
Main gear touches first, smooth and solid, the subtle chirp of rubber meeting runway carrying through the airframe.
I exhale slowly, tension I didn’t fully acknowledge finally easing from between my shoulders.
Successful demo. Clean lines. Perfect spacing. No corrections needed.
I taxi clear of the runway, heart still pounding but now for entirely different reasons.
“That,” Logan says over the radio, “was a damn good first show, Ghost.”
“Thanks, Viking,” I reply, unable to keep the grin out of my voice.
Townsend’s voice cuts in next, dry as ever. “It was solid.”
I huff a laugh. From Townsend, that’s basically a standing ovation.
We taxi back toward the ramp where the demo team ground crew waits, their posture relaxed in that subtle way that says everything went exactly as planned.
As the engines spool down, the world suddenly feels very still.
Like stepping off a roller coaster and realizing the ground isn’t moving anymore but your body still is.
The canopy lifts, warm air rushing in, carrying the familiar scent of hot metal and jet exhaust. My boots hit the ladder rungs, the solid feel of concrete beneath my feet reminding me that I am, in fact, back on earth.
Logan claps a hand against my shoulder as I step clear of the jet. “Told you you’d be fine.”
“That was incredible,” I admit, adrenaline still buzzing beneath my skin.
“You looked good up there,” Townsend says, arms crossed as he watches the crew move efficiently around the aircraft. “Spacing was tight. Timing was exact.”
High praise.
“Thanks,” I say, meaning it.
My eyes are already scanning past them, searching automatically for one person.
White sundress. Red nails. Blonde ponytail with the scarf twisted through it.
Lila reaches us first, moving quickly despite the crowd beginning to gather along the rope line.
She rises onto her toes to kiss Logan, quick but affectionate, her hand brushing lightly over his jaw.
“You both looked amazing,” she says, turning to include me in the praise. “Seriously flawless.”
“Glad you approve,” Logan replies.
“I need you at the meet and greet,” she continues, already halfway back in work mode. “Media line is filling fast.”
“I just need five minutes,” I say quickly, already stepping away. “I’m going to find Ivy.”
“Of course,” Lila says without hesitation. “Five minutes.”
I head toward the demo team tent, pulse still running fast but lighter now, anticipation layering over the fading adrenaline.
Hadley spots me first.
She breaks free from Alinna’s hand and launches herself at me with zero hesitation, arms wrapping tightly around my middle.
“You were AMAZING!” she declares loudly. “You went like WHOOSH and then straight up and then upside down and I thought you were going to touch space!”
I laugh, crouching slightly to steady her as she nearly knocks the air out of me.
“Touch space, huh?”
“Yes,” she says firmly. “You’re Super Dalton.”
“Super Dalton,” I repeat solemnly. “I’ll need that on a business card.”
“You were the best one,” she informs me.
“Careful,” Logan calls from behind me. “I’m still standing right here.”
Hadley considers this seriously. “You were second best.”
“I’ll take it,” Logan says.
I glance past them, scanning instinctively.
No white sundress. No red nails. No blonde ponytail
A small thread of unease winds quietly through my chest.
“She ran to the car,” Alinna says, already anticipating the question. “I think to get Hadley’s sunscreen?”
“Oh.” I nod.
That makes sense. Except… “How long ago?”
Alinna’s expression shifts slightly as she considers. “Maybe fifteen minutes?”
Fifteen minutes.
The parking area isn’t that far.
Cold dread trickles down my spine.
“She said she’d be right back,” Alinna adds, her tone subtly changing as she registers the same realization.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. Unknown local number.
Fear replaces the dread, causing my stomach to churn uneasily.
“Hello?”
“Lieutenant Everett,” the voice says, professional, calm. “This is security forces. We’re calling from the base emergency department.”
My chest tightens instantly.
“Ivy Wade was found unconscious in the parking area approximately ten minutes ago. She is conscious now and stable. She requested that we contact you.”
For a moment, the words don’t fully process.
Unconscious. Parking lot. Requested you.
“I’m on my way,” I say immediately, already moving.
“She appears to have experienced a syncopal episode,” the voice continues. “Medical staff can provide further details upon arrival.”
“I’m coming now.”
I end the call before they can say anything else.
“I have to go,” I tell Logan quickly, already backing away.
“What happened?” he asks, concern replacing the easy post-flight energy instantly.
I glance over to make sure Hadley is out of earshot. “Ivy’s in the ER.”
Every muscle in my body tightens at once.
Adrenaline surges back, but this time sharp and unpleasant, nothing like the bliss of the cockpit.
“Alinna, please keep Hadley. I’ll call as soon as I know anything.” Alinna looks up from her conversation with Hadley, confusion written all over her face.
“I’ll fill her in. Go,” Logan says.
My boots hit pavement faster than I realize I’m moving. The walk becomes a jog. The jog becomes a run.
My Jeep Wrangler comes into view across the lot, sun glinting off the windshield.
Unconscious. Parking lot. Fifteen minutes.
My mind moves too fast, possibilities stacking in rapid succession, none of them good.
I yank the door open, barely registering the heat trapped inside the vehicle as I climb in and start the engine.
The drive to the base hospital feels longer than it should. Every red light feels like a personal insult. My grip tightens on the steering wheel as the building finally comes into view.
She asked for me. Whatever happened, she asked for me.
I park crooked and don’t bother correcting it, moving quickly toward the entrance, pulse pounding hard enough that I can feel it in my throat.
Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be okay.
The automatic doors barely finish opening before I’m inside.
Cool air hits my face, carrying the sharp scent of antiseptic and something faintly metallic beneath it.
The ER waiting area is quiet compared to the chaos combination of fear and anxiety and leftover adrenaline running through my bloodstream.
The fluorescent lights are too bright, everything is too still.
A receptionist looks up as I approach the desk, my boots striking the tile faster than I probably should in a medical facility.
“Hi. I’m Lieutenant Dalton Everett," I say, breath still slightly uneven. “I’m here for Ivy Wade. I was told she was brought in from the air show parking area.”
Her fingers pause mid-typing. She nods quickly, already reaching for the phone.
“One moment, sir.”
Every second stretches thin.
A uniformed security forces airman appears moments later from a hallway to the right.
“Lieutenant Everett?”
“Yes.”
“Come with me.”
I follow immediately, pace matching his longer strides as we move through a set of secured double doors and down a corridor that smells faintly like disinfectant and sterile gauze.
“We located Ms. Wade in the parking area adjacent to the airshow lot,” he explains calmly. “She was conscious but disoriented when our patrol made contact. Medical staff evaluated her here and believe she experienced a syncopal episode brought on by a panic attack.”
Fainted. Collapsed. Alone.
My jaw tightens.
“She indicated she believed she was being followed by a blue Honda sedan,” he continues. “We’ve documented the statement, though she was understandably shaken and not able to provide extensive details at the time.”
My stomach drops hard.
Not nerves. Not random.
“I want to see her.”
“Yes, sir.” He pushes open a door near the end of the hall.
And then I see her.
Ivy sits propped slightly upright in a hospital bed, an IV taped carefully into her arm, a pale blanket pulled loosely across her lap. Her golden hair is slightly disheveled, the high ponytail loosened enough that soft curls have fallen around her face.
There’s a visible bruise forming along her temple, already darkening beneath the fluorescent lights. A shallow scrape marks her cheek. Her hands rest carefully in her lap, small bandages covering abrasions across her knuckles and palm.
I clench my teeth so hard it hurts.
Her eyes lift the moment I step inside.
Relief washes across her features so quickly it feels like a physical force.
“Dalton,” she breathes.
I cross the room in two strides, careful of the IV line as I slide my arms around her, pulling her as close as the hospital bed allows. She scoots closer to me.
“I’m here,” I murmur, pressing a kiss gently against the side of her head, mindful of the swelling near her temple. “I’ve got you. Are you okay?”
Her fingers curl instinctively into the sleeves of my black demo flight suit, grip tighter than usual. She’s still trembling.
“I’m okay,” she says quickly, though her voice is thin, uneven. “I just—I hit my head when I fell.”
“You fainted?”
She nods slightly, then winces at the movement. I press another kiss to her hair.
“There was a car,” she says quietly, her voice unsteady in a way that immediately sharpens every instinct I have. “The blue Honda with the New Jersey plates.”
The two security forces personnel remain near the door, silent but attentive as she speaks.
“I thought it was coincidence at first,” she continues, swallowing carefully. “But when I saw it again today…and then the driver got out…I just…I couldn’t breathe.”
Her fingers tighten on me. I give her my hand and she laces our fingers together.
“I tried to tell myself I was overreacting, but my chest got tight and everything started spinning and then…I don’t remember falling.”
My jaw flexes.
“Did you see the person’s face?”
She shakes her head faintly. “No. By the time he was close enough everything was fuzzy.” Her breathing grows slightly uneven again as she relives it.
“I think it was another panic attack,” she admits softly. “I couldn’t get air in…everything went black at the edges…”
“You’re okay now,” I say quietly, steadying my voice even as something colder builds beneath the surface. “You’re safe.”
One of the security forces officers steps slightly forward.
“Ma’am, do you recall any portion of the license plate? Any distinguishing features of the driver?”
“No,” she says apologetically. “I couldn’t see. The driver was definitely a man. He wore scuffed black boots.”
“That’s good,” the airman assures her calmly. “That’s something.” But I know it isn’t.
This is the problem with air shows; yes they’re often on bases and once she’s in our demo team’s tent, she’s definitely safe, but the base is open to the public.
No one knows who’s coming in and out. The guy clearly had the means to hurt her if he wanted and didn’t.
But the fact that he knows where to find her all the time is fucking alarming.
“I’m going to step outside with them for a moment,” I tell her softly. “I’ll be right back.”
Her fingers tighten slightly, a flicker of unease passing through her eyes.
“I’ll be right back, beautiful,” I promise quietly and kiss her lips gently.
She nods, though her grip lingers for an extra second before releasing my sleeve.
I step into the hallway, closing the door partially behind me.
“I want to see where she was found,” I say immediately.
“We can take you there,” one of the men confirms. “Our patrol vehicle is outside.”
“If that car is still there, I want the plate. It’s been outside my fucking house.”
The two airmen look at each other. This is probably more than they realized they were signing up for. “Yes, sir.”
We move quickly through the corridor and out into the warm afternoon air.
The adrenaline from the demo has fully transformed into something sharper now, more focused.
The patrol vehicle drives us the short distance back toward the parking rows near where everyone parked for the air show. There are thousands of cars, and for a few painful minutes I have my doubts they’ll be able to take me to the right spot and then the chances the guy stuck around…
But even before the vehicle fully stops, I spot it.
Blue Honda. Scratched paint. New Jersey plates.
Exactly what Ivy said.
My jaw tightens as I step out, scanning the surrounding area automatically, though the crowd movement has shifted significantly since the demo ended.
Families walk past unaware. Children wave around flags and toy jets.
Normal life continues around the small space where Ivy collapsed.
“There,” I say quietly, nodding toward the vehicle.
One of the officers writes quickly in a small notepad as I read off the license plate.
“Copy,” he confirms.
“We can run the plate through base security systems and DMV records,” the other adds. “If the individual has accessed base property, there will be a record.” I’m wondering what connections Kyler has to look into this, too, and make a mental note of calling him when I get back to the hospital.
“Good. Thank you,” I say, gaze lingering on the car a moment longer than necessary.
Someone was here. Watching her. Following her. The thought settles heavily in my chest.
“We’ll keep you informed of any developments,” the airman assures me.
I nod once, already turning back toward the vehicle. “I need to get back to her.”
“Of course, sir.”
As we drive back toward the hospital entrance, my pulse remains steady but heavy, the earlier high from the successful demo feeling like it belongs to a completely different day. Completely different life.
Right now, there is only one thing that matters.
Ivy asked for me.
And whatever the hell is happening, I’m not letting her face it alone.