Ravik dropped into the pilot seat. The sim hummed, the starfield pulsing alive around him. He tugged at his gloves, slow and methodical. Beside him, Kael slid into the second seat, motion clean, practiced.

Kael keyed in the course. The sim’s engines surged as the grid loaded. His crimson eyes shifted to Ravik, sharp but not unkind. “You’re tense already, Captain.”

“I’m fine,” Ravik replied tersely, gripping the control stick.

“Sure you are,” Kael said, his voice laced with skepticism. The simulated flight path loaded on the display, showing a twisting series of asteroid fields, enemy drones, and narrow trench runs. “Today, we’re running evasive maneuvers, high-pressure scenarios. Same drills we use in the field.”

Ravik shot him a sidelong glance. “Is this really necessary?”

“Absolutely.” Kael keyed the launch with steady precision. The simulated Revenant thrummed to life, and the cockpit jerked slightly as they accelerated into the course.

Asteroids blurred past the viewport. Kael flew clean, hands steady, in control.

“You’re capable of flying,” Kael said after a moment. “Your scores in training weren’t stellar, but you're holding back. Why do you hate it so much?”

“I don’t hate it.”

Kael raised an eyebrow, turning sharply to avoid a spinning chunk of debris. “You’re gripping that stick like your life depends on it.”

Ravik didn’t answer immediately as he adjusted to match Kael’s movements. The sim pitched them through a narrow gap in the field, the faint alert of incoming drones buzzing through the cockpit.

Kael didn’t look over. “What is it about flying that gets to you?”

Ravik hesitated. “It’s not… normal.”

Kael’s crimson eyes narrowed. “We’re Yawr, Ravik. Nothing about us is normal.”

Ravik adjusted, dodging a drone’s vector. “I’ve seen green lights lie. Autopilot AIs smooth over sensor loss; by the time they admit they’re blind, you’re already dusted.”

“So it’s trust.”

Ravik shot him a look. “It’s control. On the ground, the world pushes back. I can feel the give. In here, numbers pretend to be truth.”

Kael met his gaze. “Numbers don’t pretend. Pilots do.”

“I do what’s needed.” Ravik cut back to the HUD. His grip didn’t loosen. “I’m not useless.”

The sim dropped them into a trench run. Kael’s tone stayed even. “No one said you were. Out there, comfort doesn’t matter—adaptability does. If you’re going to lead, you don’t get to pick the terrain.”

Ravik drew a breath, jaw tight. He adjusted his grip, forcing his hands to relax as they swerved through the final stretch of the course.

As the simulation eased into the cooldown cycle, Kael glanced at him again. “Not bad, Captain. I might even let you take the lead next time.”

Ravik rolled his eyes.

Kael chuckled—low, almost fond. “You’ve got the instincts, Ravik. All you need is the confidence to trust them.”

He reset the simulation with a few taps of the console, the holographic starfield flickering to a more challenging course. The asteroid field reformed, the debris moving faster, the drones programmed with more aggressive tactics. The cockpit trembled as the sim launched them into the void again, the hum of the engines resonating through their seats.

“We’re not done. You handled the last run well enough, but let’s see how you do when things get... harder.”

Ravik shot him a look, his violet eyes narrowing. “You think pushing me until I fail is going to teach me anything?”

Kael smirked, his hand brushing against Ravik’s as he adjusted the throttle. The touch lingered just a second too long, deliberate but unspoken. “Failure’s part of it, Captain. And you don’t strike me as someone who stays in his comfort zone.”

Ravik tensed, his jaw tightening as he gripped the controls. “Comfort zones get you killed,” he muttered, focusing on the rapidly approaching debris field.

“Exactly,” Kael replied smoothly. He leaned closer, his arm brushing against Ravik’s. “So, what is it about flying that really gets under your skin? And don’t tell me it’s the autopiolt. That’s not it.”

Ravik’s hands tightened on the controls, his focus unwavering as the ship dodged a sharp turn and narrowly avoided a plasma beam. “You’re making a lot of assumptions.”

“I’m observing,” Kael countered. His hand moved again, this time sliding just above Ravik’s on the throttle, his fingers brushing the younger man’s knuckles. “You’re holding back, Ravik. Always are.”

Ravik jerked hard on the throttle, sending the craft into a sharp dive to avoid an asteroid. Kael’s grip on his hand tightened.

“Flying’s not the problem. It’s what it brings up. Am I wrong?”

Ravik didn’t speak. But his silence wasn’t denial.

Kael’s voice dropped. “I’ve seen you fight insurgents. Take down drones. Make field calls that would rattle command. But flying...” He shifted slightly. “It’s different. Isn’t it?”

Ravik’s breath caught. His hands jerked the stick harder than necessary. The ship tilted.

“Stop,” he said, low and clipped.

Kael eased off the throttle, gaze steady. “Alright. Then tell me what it is.”

The sim engines thrummed. Ravik exhaled hard, his grip loosening but not leaving the controls.

“It’s... Korel.”

Kael didn’t speak. He just watched.

Ravik didn’t look at him. “He’s a pilot. Loves it. Said flying made him feel free.” He flexed his fingers once. “I hated that about him.”

Still no response. Kael waited.

“And then he beat me,” Ravik muttered. “Not just in the sims—in everything. He was named Class Commander. He took the Dominus. Took what was mine.” His breath shortened. “I never cared about flying. I still don’t. It’s just a reminder.”

Kael’s voice came in quiet. “You’re not competing against the past.”

Ravik turned, sharp. “Then what am I doing?”

Kael leaned in, brushing Ravik’s arm. “You’re proving you’re more than that loss. That you won’t let it define you.”

Ravik didn’t blink. Kael’s eyes held him in place.

“You’ve already grown so much. You just don’t see it.”

The sim’s alarm jolted them back into action, the final wave of drones bearing down on their position. Ravik reacted fast. Sharp movements. No hesitation.

As the simulation wound down, Ravik’s hands didn’t leave the controls. His eyes stayed forward, posture locked.

Kael watched him. Still. Composed. But under it—something hungry, something unspoken.

“You’re still holding back,” Kael said finally.

Ravik didn’t look at him. But his fingers twitched. “What do you want from me, Kael?”

“More.”

Ravik turned, slow. “More?””

“You’ve been fighting me,” Kael said, leaning in. “Fighting the sim. Korel’s ghost. Yourself.” His tone dropped lower. “Let it go.”

Ravik scoffed, but it came out uneven. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is.” Kael’s hand returned to Ravik’s arm. Warmer this time. He didn’t pull away. “You carry everything—pride, control, the need to win. What’s it getting you?”

Ravik’s jaw tensed.

Kael pressed further, his grip firming. “Even the best leaders know when to stop fighting. When to let someone else hold the line.”

Ravik’s voice was tight. “You think I should surrender?”

Kael shook his head, just once. “Not surrender,” he said quietly. “Trust.”

The word sat between them. Heavy. Unmovable.

Kael leaned in, close enough to feel Ravik’s breath. “What are you afraid of, Ravik? Losing control?” His voice barely above a whisper now. “Or that you might like it?”

Ravik made a fist against the console, hard. His other hovered between retreat and contact.

“You’re pushing your luck,” he muttered, but his voice had no weight behind it.

“Am I?” Kael’s tone sharpened to something dangerous.

Kael’s hand slid to the console, knuckles brushing Ravik’s. Not accidental. Not innocent.

Ravik didn’t pull away.

Kael didn’t look at the screen. Or the controls. Only at Ravik.