Officially, he was gone.
But Mara knew better.
Men like him didn’t disappear.
They repositioned.
“Still watching the same patch of sky?”
The voice behind her broke the silence. It was Colonel Hayes, her former commander—now something closer to the only person who truly understood her.
Mara didn’t turn.
“He’s still out there,” she said quietly.
Hayes walked beside her, folding his arms.
“Maybe,” he admitted. “But you stopped him.”
“For now.”
That was the part no one else seemed to understand.
This wasn’t over.
Not really.
That day on Flight 417 wasn’t an ending—it was a message. A reminder that the world she tried to leave behind had never let her go.
And maybe… never would.
A cold wind swept across the runway, tugging lightly at her sleeve. Mara finally turned, her expression calm—but her eyes sharper than ever.
“I keep thinking about something,” she said.
