I didn’t see the auditorium again for months, but I carried it with me—the sting of their laughter, the way it died the second my mother walked in, and the moment I realized the bravest person I knew had been terrified all along. Ghostwing was never just a machine; it was a shadow over every birthday, every move, every locked door I’d ever thought was normal. Learning I was its key didn’t make me special. It made me dangerous.
But in that hangar, with Voss raging and the prototype tearing at reality, something shifted. My mother stopped being a distant legend in a flight suit and became a woman who had bled her whole life to keep me free. I wasn’t her secret anymore; I was her choice. I walked away from Ghostwing, from Voss, from the name he tried to give me. And in the silence afterward, with the lies stripped away, I finally understood what it meant to inherit someone’s courage without inheriting their darkness. My life wasn’t a classified project. It was a promise she’d nearly died to keep.
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