At the old veteran in 14F gripping his cane.
Dana’s seatbelt clicked open.
“What are you doing?!” Bradley grabbed her arm.
Dana twisted free so quickly he gasped and pulled his wrist against his chest.
“Sit back,” she said. “Don’t touch me again.”
The emptiness in her eyes was gone.
She leaned across him and pressed her palm to the window.
Two taps.
A precise downward movement.
Then another sequence.
Friendly.
Unarmed.
Awaiting orders.
Finally, she tapped the identifier of her old squadron.
The Black Knights.
Outside, the Raptor remained motionless.
One second.
Two.
Three.
Then Viper’s right hand left the controls.
Not toward a weapon.
Toward his helmet.
He turned toward seat 13F and snapped a crisp salute.
The cabin seemed to inhale all at once.
Bradley stared at the fighter, then slowly at Dana.
“Who,” he whispered, “the hell are you?”
Dana said nothing.
Her fingers closed tightly around the battered dog tags resting against her chest. 👇
Bradley’s question hung between them while Dana kept her fist closed around the dog tags.
Outside the window, Viper held the salute for one beat longer, then lowered his hand and pointed two fingers toward the nose of the airliner.
