“Mrs. Vale.”
“I wondered when you might call.”
There was no accusation in the words. That made them harder.
Dana told her about the recording. She explained the rescue helicopter, the second pass, the six people aboard, and the fact that she had ordered Ethan to leave. Her voice failed twice. Ethan’s mother waited both times.
When Dana finished, the line stayed quiet.
Then Mrs. Vale said, “He told me about you before that deployment. He said you were the best flight lead he had ever had and that you worried about everyone twice as much as you worried about yourself.”
Dana pressed her free hand against her eyes.
“I should have called you two years ago.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Vale said gently. “You should have.”
Dana almost smiled through the tears.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know. But do not make my son’s last brave choice into evidence that he should not have trusted you. He would hate that.”
The sentence stayed with Dana.
Before they hung up, Mrs. Vale asked her to visit someday, not as a major, not as the person who had been in command, but simply as Dana. For the first time, Dana believed she might be able to do that.
A month later, Dana drove to Virginia.
She did not tell Jack until she was already outside Langley.
He came through the gate in a flight suit and stared at her rental car.
“You know phones exist.”
“I was nearby.”
“You drove four hours out of your way.”
“Nearby is relative.”
He smiled.
Dana had not come to fly.
She told herself that repeatedly as they walked toward the squadron building.
The Black Knights had changed. New faces. New patches. New photographs on the wall. But the ready room still smelled like coffee, hydraulic fluid, and somebody’s terrible microwave lunch.
At the end of one hallway hung a framed photograph of Ethan Vale.
Beneath it were six small brass nameplates.
Dana stopped.
“What are those?”
Jack’s voice softened.
