Page 50 of Alien Soldier's Heir

Everything else—the doubts, the silence, the tension with Nova—it all falls away in the wake of motion and muscle memory. Iamthe ship. Every flick of my wrist, every breath I take, the machine responds like it’s wired to my veins.

I loop behind the last drone, lock-on tone flaring in my headset.

“One for luck,” I mutter, then fire.

Boom.

Target neutralized. Run completed. Timer stops.

The display blinks gold.

Best time. Best precision. Best run.

I exhale, chest heaving.

The hatch hisses open and the light slams into me like a spotlight on a stage. The hangar smells like grease, coolant, and ozone—home.

Swan’s waiting near the debrief station, arms crossed, half-grinning. He looks calm. Unbothered.

Too calm.

I pull off my gloves and walk over, heart still thudding like I haven’t landed.

“Well?” I ask.

“You flew like a lunatic,” he says.

“Thanks.”

“Also like a legend.”

I laugh, but it doesn’t last.

There’s something in his eyes—quiet. Still. Like water just before it freezes.

“You okay?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“Dangerous habit.”

“Only if you make a habit of not listening to what you think.”

I frown. “You’re being weird.”

He looks down. “It’s just… I know what this is. What itmeans.First Ray’s not just a promotion. It’s a death sentence dressed in a commendation. And I didn’t think I’d get this far.”

I want to say something. Make a joke. Deflect.

But he keeps going.

“I’m proud of you,” he says. “And I mean that. I just hope you know what you’re flying into.”

I try to smile, but it sticks in my throat.

“Yeah,” I say finally. “Me too.”

Later, we drink in near silence.