Captain Keller Mosby eased the T-38 Talon onto the centerline of Runway 22, the morning sun cutting a hard reflection across the canopy. The aircraft was brand new — fresh paint, fresh avionics, fresh expectations — and Keller had been asked to take it higher, faster, and harder than any of the trainees who would eventually fly it. He preferred it that way. Machines told the truth long before people did. “Mosby, Tower,” the radio crackled. “You’re cleared for takeoff. Profile Charlie. Maintain block altitude until coastal transition.” “Copy Charlie,” Keller said. “Rolling.” He pushed the throttles forward. The twin J85 engines spooled with a rising whine, the kind that vibrated through bone and memory. The Talon leaped forward, light on its gear, eager to fly. Keller kept his left hand steady on the throttles, right hand on the stick, eyes on the far end of the runway. At one hundred fifty knots, he pulled back. The T-38 climbed like it had something to prove. Keller leveled at twenty thousand feet, checked the gauges, and nudged the throttles again. The Talon responded instantly. He felt the acceleration press him into the seat, the canopy trembling as the aircraft approached transonic. “Mosby, Tower,” the radio said. “You’re cleared for coastal run. Maintain separation from civilian airspace.” “Roger.” He dipped the nose and pointed the jet toward the coastline. The Gulf shimmered ahead, a clean blue line stretching toward the horizon. Keller adjusted the trim, checked the control surfaces, and pushed the throttles to military power. The Talon surged. Mach 1.1. Mach 1.2. The airframe shuddered, then smoothed as it punched through the barrier. Mach 1.4. Keller felt the familiar tightening in his chest — not fear, not adrenaline, just the quiet satisfaction of a machine doing exactly what it was built to do. He dropped lower. Too low. The coastal town appeared beneath him — rooftops, streets, a marina, all laid out like a map he wasn’t supposed to fly over at this altitude. He knew it. He ignored it. Mach 1.5. The sonic boom hit the town like a hammer. Windows rattled. A few shattered. A row of fishing boats rocked violently against their moorings. Keller saw a flock of birds explode upward in panic, scattering across the sky. He pulled the Talon into a steep climb, letting the speed bleed off as he rose above the coastline. “Mosby, Tower,” the radio snapped. “What the hell was that? You broke the coastal ceiling.” Keller kept his voice even. “Aircraft nee