Hopper spreads a map across the counter, weighed down by a coffee mug and a stray walkie-talkie. His voice is low, gravelly, explaining rotor clearance and descent angles.

Dustin shakes his head. These rotors are like forty feet wide. It’s too big, it’s not gonna fit.

Robin doesn’t even look up from where she’s leaning against the rack of vinyls. Just grins, slow and deliberate. Steve hears that all the time and he goes in anyway. Don’t you, Steve?

The words hang in the air like a grenade pin pulled.

You feel it before you see it—the heat crawling up your neck, spreading across your cheeks. You’re standing right beside him, shoulder brushing his, close enough that you catch the sharp inhale he takes.