Then it met me on the runway.
I stood slowly.
Pain ran through my shoulders and spine from fighting the controls. My knees felt weak. My palms were marked red from pressure.
But I stood.
Caleb turned to me, anger burning beneath his restraint.
“Emma, don’t say anything without counsel.”
I almost smiled.
“Still giving orders.”
“Still ignoring them?”
“Only the bad ones.”
One of the officers gestured toward the exit.
“This way, ma’am.”
Mia stepped in front of me.
“No. She’s crew. She needs medical.”
The officer softened slightly.
“Medical will evaluate her after initial secure transfer.”
Caleb’s voice dropped.
“That is not acceptable.”
Before the argument could escalate, a voice spoke from behind the officers.
“It’s acceptable because I authorized it.”
The officers moved aside.
A woman entered.
Mid-sixties. Silver hair cut sharp at her jaw. Dark civilian coat. No uniform, but every person in military clothing reacted as if rank had entered the room.
My stomach turned cold.
I had seen her only once before.
Ten years ago.
In the windowless room where Captain Emma Parker was erased.
“Hello, Valkyrie,” she said.
Caleb’s face hardened.
“Director Hale.”
So she had climbed higher.
Of course she had.
