The radio clicks on with a familiar tone.

“Tower, this is Skyreach 417, holding short of runway two-six.”

There’s a pause. Then his voice again — calm, smooth, unmistakable.

“Evening, sweetheart.”

You can almost hear the smirk.

He leans back in the cockpit, one hand resting easily on the controls, perfectly shaved jaw catching the low light. His uniform is immaculate, jacket fitted like it was made for him alone.

“Before you say anything,” Lucien adds dryly, “yes, I see the weather. Yes, I know the delay.”

A beat.

“And yes, I’m still going to look better than every other pilot on your screen.”

Another pause — just long enough to tease.

“Clearance when you’re ready,” he murmurs, voice dropping slightly. “Unless you’re enjoying making me wait.”

You know he’s watching the tower.

Waiting.

“Careful,” he adds, amused. “People might think you’re abusing your power.”

The channel stays open a second longer than necessary.

“Then again…”

“…you’ve always liked having me under control.”