Danielle could feel the cusp before her. She’d earned a hundred “tags” over the last nine years, but none had stuck, though they sometime took months to shed. She could feel “Sybil” hovering in the air, but she had no interest in being tagged with a nickname implying multiple personality disorder. Very not superhero.
Specialty? She’d flown in all three birds. The Little Bird as a copilot just so she could viscerally know what they could do. She liked the tactile knowledge, had ultimately run it through the obstacle course without killing herself or her pilot. She was technically still qualified to Readiness Level 1 on the Black Hawk, but not to SOAR standards. She done the yearly requisite basics to still be qualified to fly one around—more out of stubbornness than need—but she’d never be
