139

The goodbye was quiet. No audience. No speeches. Just the low hum of the quinjet warming on the pad and the pale stretch of morning light breaking over the horizon.

Carol zipped her jacket, helmet tucked under her arm. Athena stood close, hands in the pockets of her hoodie, like this was just another morning. Because in a way—it was. "I'll be back in three weeks," Carol said. "Four, if things get weird." Athena nodded. "Text when you can." Carol smiled. "Always." They kissed—soft, unhurried. No desperation. No counting seconds. Carol turned and walked toward the jet without looking back.

The days passed. Athena settled into routine: training, paperwork, quiet dinners that were a little too quiet but not lonely. She checked her messages once a day, sometimes twice. Carol sent updates when she could—short, uneven bursts across the distance.

CAROL: Miss you.CAROL: Still alive. Mostly.CAROL: Tell Morgan I owe her a shiny rock.

Athena smiled every time. Three weeks came and went. On the twenty-fourth day, Athena was in the gym when her phone buzzed.

CAROL: Landing in ten.

Athena froze—then laughed, breathless.

The quinjet touched down under a dusk-dark sky, engines cooling with a familiar whine. Athena was already there, arms crossed against the chill, heart steady in her chest. The ramp lowered. Carol stepped out, helmet under her arm, hair wind-tossed, eyes searching. They locked onto Athena immediately.

Carol didn't hesitate—she crossed the distance in long strides, dropping her gear and pulling Athena into her arms. Athena wrapped around her just as tightly. "You're early," Athena murmured into her shoulder. Carol smiled against her hair. "Missed you." Athena pulled back just enough to look at her. The ring glinted under the landing lights. "You said you'd come back," Athena said. Carol brushed her thumb over Athena's cheek. "I did." And for once, distance had kept its promise.