The jet hummed steadily as it sliced through the sky, a peaceful cocoon far removed from the noise of boardrooms and baggage claims. Ethan sat in the co-pilot seat longer than he probably should have, but Avery didn't ask him to leave—and that alone told him something.

She liked the quiet. Not the awkward kind—he knew that silence well. This was different. Comfortable. Steady. Like her.

Avery's eyes were locked on the horizon, her posture relaxed but always alert. She was all edges and discipline with a soft center she didn't let people near. And that intrigued him more than it should've.

"Have you always wanted to fly?" he asked, his voice softer now, the teasing edge gone.

Avery hesitated.

"No," she admitted after a beat. "Not always. I wanted to be an astronaut when I was little."

He smiled. "That's... close."

"My dad used to take me to this old airfield outside of town," she said, voice tinged with memory. "We'd sit on the hood of his truck, watch the planes take off. He flew commercial for thirty years. It was the one place he seemed happy."

Ethan looked at her—really looked. "He must be proud."

A small smile flickered. "He passed away three years ago. Heart condition."

"I'm sorry."

She nodded, glancing back toward the sky. "Flying made me feel close to him. So I did the thing that scared me most—quit my job at a desk, took flying lessons, and never looked back."

Ethan rested his arms on his knees, listening. Not interrupting. For once, just being there.

"Everyone thought I was crazy," she added. "Even Lila."

"Your sister?"

Avery nodded. "She owns a little café back home. Thinks I should come back, settle down, stop 'flirting with the clouds.'"

He chuckled. "Can't say I blame her. She probably misses you."

"She does. But I'm not the settling kind."

Ethan tilted his head, studying her again. "That's the second time today you've said what you're not. Maybe you should start thinking about what you are."

That caught her off guard.

She glanced at him, met his gaze—and there it was again. That flicker of something. Connection. Vulnerability. Interest.

"Okay," she said quietly, folding her arms. "What about you? You always want to run a tech empire?"

He scoffed. "No. I wanted to design comic books. I used to sketch superheroes in my notebooks during math class."

Avery laughed—genuinely, brightly. "You? Really?"

He shrugged, amused. "Yeah. My parents weren't exactly thrilled. So I got into coding instead. Built a software company by nineteen. The rest... well, it's in Forbes."

Avery arched a brow. "That's kind of amazing."

"It's exhausting," he said more honestly than he meant to. "The expectations, the pressure, the pretending. I needed a break. That's why I bought this jet. I figured if I was going to burn out, might as well do it 40,000 feet in the air with decent legroom."

She grinned. "That's one way to cope."

Their eyes met again. And this time, the silence wasn't comfortable—it was charged.

Neither of them looked away.

Until a gentle ding came from the flight panel.

Avery cleared her throat and stood, her composure returning like a steel door sliding back into place.

"I should go check the cabin," she said.

Ethan stood too. "I'll get out of your hair."

But as he reached the cockpit door, he paused. Glanced over his shoulder.

"I meant what I said, Avery. You don't have to fly solo forever."

Before she could respond, he stepped out and disappeared into the cabin.

FLASHBACK – AVERY, AGE 12
Summer – Small airfield in Vermont

The sun was just starting to dip behind the trees, casting long golden shadows across the airstrip. Avery sat on the hood of her dad's old truck, legs swinging as a small plane buzzed overhead.

"Someday, I'll be up there," she said, shielding her eyes with her hand.

Her dad handed her a soda can and smiled. "You're not afraid of heights, huh?"

"I'm afraid of falling," she said honestly.

He nodded, thoughtful. "Falling's part of flying, kiddo. You just gotta trust you'll land where you're meant to."

BACK TO PRESENT – IN THE CABIN

Avery sat on the edge of the jump seat near the galley, arms folded, heart pounding. Not from altitude. Not from turbulence. But from Ethan Bradford's words echoing in her chest like a song she hadn't heard in a long time.

You don't have to fly solo forever.

She didn't know if she believed that. Not yet.
But maybe—just maybe—this flight was more than just a job.

Maybe this was the beginning of something worth landing for.