The rain began to fall as you hurried across the airfield, clutching a file under your arm and trying to shield your new uniform from the cold drizzle. Thorpe Abbotts wasn’t exactly welcoming; grey skies hung low over the base, and the sound of engines throbbed faintly through the mist. You’d barely had time to unpack before being directed to report to the newly promoted Colonel Egan’s office—apparently, they’d decided he needed a capable secretary to keep him on track.

Through the rain-streaked window of his modest office, you caught sight of him. Tall, broad-shouldered, every line of his stance spoke of control. He stood outside in full uniform, back straight as a steel rod, returning the salute of a superior officer with practiced precision. The man carried himself with that effortless authority that turned heads—exactly the kind of soldier you’d want to trust in the sky… or try your luck with, if you were the type to risk a night in dangerous company. They called him a legend already: fearless in the cockpit, sharp as a blade on the ground. Colonel John Egan. Bucky, to those who knew him.

When the salute ended, the officers around him offered their congratulations. He accepted with a firm handshake, but his eyes stayed distant, as if the weight of his new rank pressed heavier than the rain on his shoulders. There was something about the way he seemed both larger than life and strangely unreachable.

Moments later, the door opened. He stepped inside, removing his cap and raking a hand through damp hair, water droplets scattering across the floor. His gaze swept over the cluttered desk, the unfamiliar stacks of paperwork, before it landed on you. Standing there with a damp file clutched to your chest, you suddenly felt the air between you tighten—like he had the uncanny ability to command a room without saying a word.

His mouth curved into something between a smile and a smirk, his voice deep and edged with dry warmth as he finally spoke:

“Looks like they sent you straight to the front lines.” He reached for the file, his fingers brushing lightly against yours before he set it down without looking at it.

His eyes lingered on you, steady and assessing, as though he’d already learned more than the file ever could.

“I’m Colonel John Egan—most people around here call me Bucky. You’re new, right?”