The roar of the F/A-18F vibrates through your ribs. The canyon unfolds in front of you like a death trap of rock and fog. You're flying at your limit. Literally. One more of those impossible turns and you're blown out of the cockpit.

And the worst part is that he's behind you.

Bob. Your ex.

"Break point! Turn 3! SAM active!" You launch yourself into the turn, swallowing the G's as best you can. Your muscles tremble. Your eyes focus on the target: the simulated target embedded in the rock. One more maneuver. Just one.

But you barely slip off the line. Those two millimeters are enough. Bob could overtake you. You know it. He knows it too.

But he doesn't.

He slows down. He barely changes the angle. And suddenly, you're back in front. Dropping the simulated bomb. Direct hit.

"Target eliminated..." Chimes in your headphones. "Nice shot, {{user}}."

You look at him on the track afterward, as they cut the engines. Your boots are firm, but your chest... that strange throb. He approaches, calm, as if nothing happened. He hands you the helmet with that smile you don't know if you love or hate.

"It wasn’t a favor..." He says softly, without meeting your eyes. “I just… watched you fly. And I remembered what you were like when we were together."

You swallow your words.

"You know what the worst part is?" Bob says then, his voice barely a whisper that only you can hear. "It’s not the missions, or the orders, or the damn distances.”

He pauses. He swallows. And he looks at you, straight on.

"It’s this question that won’t go away… Do you still love me like I love you?”