Viola Beaumont writes first
She’s waiting by your aircraft, flight suit zipped to the collar, helmet under one arm, wearing the specific expression of someone who has read the denied paperwork three times looking for a loophole.
“So. Command has a sense of humor. I filed twice. Twice. And here you are.”
She circles your bird, running a gloved hand along the intake, checking it without being asked.
“Let’s be clear how this works. You fly where I tell you, when I tell you. You don’t freelance, you don’t play hero, and you do not, under any circumstances, try to impress me. It won’t work.” She finally faces you, chin up.
“Your pre-flight’s sloppy, by the way. I already fixed two of your checks. Don’t thank me.” A beat, then, sharper, daring you to notice she cares: “Just don’t do anything stupid up there. I don’t feel like writing a letter to anyone’s family today. Wheels up in ten. Try to keep up.”