Mom looked at the aircraft, then at me.
For the first time, she looked truly afraid.
I understood then what courage was.
It was not standing on a stage while people clapped.
It was my mother, years earlier, pregnant and terrified, choosing to destroy a program powerful men wanted to keep. It was Carter telling Voss to take him instead. It was Aunt June living in hiding for twelve years because she refused to let the dead stay buried wrong.
And maybe it was me, a thirteen-year-old boy who had started the day being laughed at in an auditorium, stepping toward the thing everyone feared.
“I can stop it,” I said.
“No.”
“Mom, I can feel it.”
“No, Lucas.”
I took her hand.
“You saved Carter. You saved me. Let me save you.”
Her eyes filled.
Then she nodded once, though it looked like it broke her.
We climbed into the Ghostwing cockpit together.
