I don’t pause, don’t acknowledge him beyond a quick glance. If he wants to gawk, that is on him.
“This season, we’ve got a mix of retiring veterans and fresh blood,” I continue, gesturing toward a small cluster of seasoned pilots in the front row. “First, I want to recognize the contributions of our retiring pilots. You’ve not only set the standard but also left a legacy for these rookies to live up to. Thank you for your service.”
There is a smattering of applause, respectful but brief.
“And now,” I say, turning my attention to the newer faces, “to our rookies. We’ve got two this season who’ll be working closely with me to learn the routines and prepare for the first show in the coming weeks: Ash Carr,” I say, meeting his still-wide eyes head-on for a beat longer than necessary, “and Noah River.”
Noah gives me a respectful nod. But Ash? He looks like someone just pulled the ground out from under him.
“You’ll both be learning the routine from top to bottom,” I continue, keeping my tone even. “Every formation, every maneuver, every moment in the air. By the time we hit that first show, you won’t just be ready—you’ll be flawless. The Angels don’t settle for anything less.”
I pause, letting the weight of my words sink in. “If you’re here, it’s because you have what it takes. But don’t think for a second that means it’ll be easy. The Angels demand more than just talent. We demand discipline, focus, and an unwavering commitment to the team.”
I sweep my gaze across the room once more, landing on Ash again, who still appears unsure whether he is impressed or utterly doomed.
“Welcome to the Angels,” I conclude, picking up my coffee. “Let’s get to work.”
The briefing room buzzes with energy as everyone files out, boots scuffing against the floors and quiet conversations trailing behind me. I hold my coffee steady, walking with purpose toward the airfield. The crisp morning air hits me as we step outside, a familiar mix of jet fuel and anticipation settling into my chest.
Knox falls into step beside me, his simple grin firmly in place. “Ready to see what they’ve got?” he asks, tilting his head toward the hangar, where the jets gleam in the sunlight.
“More than ready,” I reply. “I’ve read their files, but the paper doesn’t tell me how they handle pressure or if they can actually work as a team.”
He chuckles. “You’ve got your work cut out for you with Carr. He’s good—great—but you saw his face in there. Kid’s still trying to figure out how he just got benched by the woman he was hitting on last night.”
I smirk but don’t take the bait. “We’ll see how he flies. That’s what matters.”
When we reach the planes, I turn to address the team. Knox, Nathan, Cole, Noah, and Ash stand in a loose line, looking at me with varying degrees of confidence and focus.
“Alright,” I start, “today’s about assessing how you fly as a team. Veterans, I want you to lead and show me the precision that keeps the Angels at the top. Rookies, your job is to listen, adapt, and prove you can hold your position under pressure.”
Ash’s jaw tightens slightly, but he nods along with the others. Good. He doesn’t have to like me, but he has to respect what this team is about.
I walk down the line, stopping briefly in front of each of them. “Knox, you’ll take point. Nathan and Cole, you’re on his wings. Ash and Noah, you’ll be in the slots behind them. I’m watching for coordination, discipline, and how well you execute the patterns. Show me what you’ve got.”
The team nods, and I can feel the shift in their focus as they turn toward the jets.
Knox grins as he passes me, his helmet under his arm. “You’re going to love this.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I’ll love it when I see perfection.”
He just laughs and jogs toward his jet.
I stand at the edge of the airfield, my arms crossed as the roar of engines fills the air. One by one, they taxi to the runway, and soon, they are airborne, cutting through the sky in perfect formation—at least, for now.
This is where it gets real. Time to see if Ash Carr is as good as his reputation claims—and if he can work with a team instead of just being the star.
I’ll give him this—AshCarr knows how to fly. Watching him in the air, you can see his natural talent, the instinctive way he handles the jet, like it is an extension of himself. The man doesn’t just fly. He owns the sky.
But as well as he does, I can already see where the cracks are. He is a solo act, a natural-born showman who leans more on his raw skill than on the discipline it takes to fly as part of a team like the Angels. He had moments of brilliance during the passes this morning—tight turns, perfect angles—but there were others where he pushed too far, cut his spacing, or lagged just enough to disrupt the rhythm. It wasn’t bad, but it’s not Angels’ material yet.
And that’s where I come in.
I stand near the edge of the airfield as the jets taxi back, crossing my arms as I watch them shut down and climb out. Knox and the veterans move with practiced ease, but I inevitably focus on Ash.
There’s just something about a man stepping out of a jet after a flight. Maybe it’s the confidence, the way he pulls off the helmet like he’s walking off a movie set, or maybe it’s just the flight suit. And Ash? The outfit looks tailored for him because of the way he wears it. Broad shoulders, a trim waist, and a swagger that says he knows exactly how good he looks.
I catch myself staring for a second too long and force my attention back to the notes I’ve been making. Professional, Maddox. Focus on the flying, not the…
