I settled in, watching my family parade past me toward the curtained sanctuary of first class. Vance paused by my row, leaning down to smirk. “Still doing IT for the Army, Harper? Or have they promoted you to fixing the printers?”
“Something like that,” I replied, my eyes fixed on the black screen of his laptop peeking out of his designer briefcase.
As the engines roared to life, I felt a familiar coldness settle in my chest. They thought I was the one stuck in the back. They didn’t realize that from where I was sitting, I had the best view of the coming storm.
Thirty thousand feet over the Pacific, the cabin atmosphere shifted. What began as a mild vibration escalated into a rhythmic, violent shudder. The “Fasten Seatbelt” sign chimed with an urgent, metallic ping. Up front, I could hear Chloe’s voice rising in indignation, demanding to know why her champagne was splashing.
Then, the cabin lights flickered and died, replaced by the eerie red glow of emergency floor strips.
The intercom crackled. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the Captain. We are experiencing a localized systems failure. Please remain seated.”
I felt the plane bank sharply—not a standard turn, but a tactical descent. Seconds later, Vance appeared in the aisle, stumbling toward the rear. He was holding his laptop and a cup of coffee. As a particularly violent jolt hit the plane, he “tripped.”
Hot coffee splashed across my jacket, soaking into the fabric. Vance didn’t apologize. He leaned in, his voice a low hiss. “Military training doesn’t cover beverage handling, I guess. You’re a mess, Harper. Just like your career.”
But as he pulled away, his laptop screen flickered. He had been trying to use the in-flight Wi-Fi to bypass a secure server. I saw a folder name flash across the display: DoD_SYS_A12.
My blood turned to ice. That wasn’t a corporate file. That was a restricted defense architecture map.
