“Pippin?” she asked.
“He’s fine. You both went full G-LOC, but your RIO was lucky enough to engage the autopilot before he lost consciousness. He came out of it a few minutes ago. They’re walking him down to the infirmary.”
She vaguely remembered trying to punch the controls—to do what Pippin had managed—but it felt like her brain wasn’t plugged in to her body. She blinked at the hangar, and the scene blinked back like a black-and-white film. “I’m still seeing gray.”
“Oxygen starved. You may faint again if you stand.” Kale threw commands to the ground crew staring down at her, finishing with, “And someone get a stretcher!”
“No stretcher.” She tried to stand, and Kale pressed her to his chest. He smelled like coffee, and he felt different this close. Safe—and yet a firm reminder of what had almost happened. Chase squeezed her eyes and saw the drone’s missile breeze by. She twitched with the remains of her much-depleted adrenaline. Where was her jet?
“Dragon?”
“She’s going to need some fixing. Skidded out on the landing—autopilot was never designed to set down. I’ll get Adrien on it.” He swore. “It could have been so much worse, but we’ll worry about that later. You’re a hero for the moment, Harcourt.” Kale’s words fell on her like a blanket, and she ached to close her eyes and tuck into it. “Get a stretcher,” he called again. “I can’t carry her, not with my back.”
“No stretcher.” Chase tried to stand, but her vision popped with black spots. She loathed the idea of being wheeled through the academy like an invalid. “I’ll make it,” she said, wavering on her feet.
“I’ll take her.”
Before Chase could sort out the voice, someone swooped her up. Her head tipped against a neck. She smelled salty sweat and stared into a tangle of black hair. “Tristan,” she murmured. His name sunk through her and warmed everything.
Tristan shifted her weight, walking so fast that the motion rocked her into a half-conscious daze. They were on the Green when she came to again. She would have known the stillness of the leaves and the rhythmic knock of the brick path underfoot anywhere.
“What was Sylph doing over the line?” Tristan asked Kale.
Good freakin’ question, Chase thought.
“Even if I knew, you know we can’t discuss it,” Kale said.
“Of course.” Tristan’s tone edged. “Any guess how Chase destroyed that drone?”
Kale spoke in a hurry. “General Tourn already requested her flight footage. He’ll call a meeting after he reviews it, but I think it’s certain this will have serious repercussions.”
Not him. Her mind cartwheeled over her father. His curse of a name. His too-large forearms and clipped gray hair. She held Tristan tighter, and he lifted her a little higher, closer.
“But it’s the first drone anyone’s managed to knock out of the sky,” Tristan argued. “It has to mean something good.”
“Does it?”
The silence that followed Kale’s question held too many answers. If Ri Xiong Di knew that the U.S. had airpower capable of taking down a drone, they might attack in a hurry. Chase’s breath cut out. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe before this night was done with its darkness…
“Will this affect the trials?” Tristan asked.
“They won’t look kindly on her passing out like that.”
“But her RIO hit the autopilot in time.”
“What if she hadn’t brought down that drone before she needed the autopilot? Or there had been a second drone waiting? Dragon would have been a sitting duck. We can’t afford to lose multibillion-dollar jets that easily.”
“She’s the only one of us who could have outmaneuvered that drone. You have to tell them that. That thing was fast.”
“I know.” Kale took a very loud, deep breath. “But no one wants kamikaze pilots.”
Chase lost her grip on Tristan as Kale’s words fell all over her like dead weight.
Tristan only held her more firmly. “Nyx could have lost that drone, but she stayed in front of it. I know what she’s like in the air. She made sure it didn’t bring its intel back to Ri Xiong Di.” His hold on her tightened as his words grew tenser. “Come on, Brigadier General. If your military can’t—”
“Cadet. Let me remind you that you are under my command while you train here.”
Silence knifed its way in. Chase’s brain had woken fully from the heated exchange. Why was Kale dismissing Tristan’s concern? Why did Tristan seem like he wanted to deck the brigadier general? For once, Kale’s hardness felt overly stubborn—and Tristan…the way he kept defending Chase made her want to tangle up with him. Hands, arms, and lips.
When Kale spoke again, his voice had softened, sounding more like himself. “We need to start thinking as allies, Router.”
“Yes, Brigadier General.”
Chase heard it all too slowly to respond. She locked her fingers around Tristan’s neck and peered at a few brown freckles on sand-hued skin.
So she’d gotten her colors back.
When they reached the infirmary, a commotion eclipsed the warmth of being close to Tristan. Voices shouted all over the place. She heard Pippin yelling at Sylph about the drone and Riot telling everyone to chill out. Chase tried to stir, but her mind still felt behind, and she felt too beat for flyboy drama. She groaned, and Tristan seemed to understand. He didn’t leave her in the midst of the arguing. He took her to one of the beds in the back, through the sea of curtains, where it was much quieter.
“Let go, Chase,” he said, unwinding her arms from his neck. She settled into a mound of pillows. Now that she was inert, she felt more awake.
Or maybe it was because she was alone with him.
“What, no kiss?” she mumbled.
Tristan leaned in and pinched her ear. “Maybe next time.”