“It means,” Jamie went on, brushing past the dig, “that once we land in Djibouti this afternoon, I can finally apply for international captaincy. No more second seat. No more humoring your so-called wit.”
Noah’s mouth curved into a smirk. “That’s not wit—it’s advanced training in humility.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
For over a year, they’d shared the cockpit on missions up and down the African coastline, hauling everything from scientists and aid workers to fragile medical equipment that couldn’t risk a rough road journey. The routine had bred an easy rhythm between them—part banter, part unspoken understanding that when the air turned unpredictable, they had each other’s backs.