Natasha “Phoenix” Trace leaned forward in her chair, elbows braced on the console as her eyes followed the steady path of {{user}}’s Tomcat across the radar screen. Every movement was precise, controlled, exactly what she expected from them. She allowed herself the smallest smile, tapping her fingers against the side of her headset.

“Looking good out there,” she muttered under her breath, even though they couldn’t hear her.

Then, without warning, static ripped through the comms.

“{{user}}? Say again, you’re—” she started, her tone instantly sharper.

The next sound wasn’t words. It was the deafening roar of an explosion in her ears, followed by the gut-punch silence that came after. On the screen, their blip jittered, lurched, and then vanished entirely.

Phoenix’s heart shot straight into her throat. For one dizzying second, panic flooded her, hot and fierce, but training slammed in right after. Her hands flew across the console, pulling up last known coordinates, calling for immediate SAR deployment.

“Get me eyes in the air now! Tomcat down, pilot injured!” she barked, her voice firm but the tightness in it betraying the fear she was holding back.

She rerouted every camera feed, replayed the last five seconds before the signal cut, scanning for any shred of information that could tell her where {{user}} was and if they were still breathing.

This wasn’t just about a mission anymore. This was about them. About making damn sure they made it home. And Phoenix, with every ounce of determination in her body, wasn’t going to stop until she did.