Page 1 of His Lost Mate

1

PHOEBE

The cockpit of the Ghosthawk was a tight, gleaming cocoon of cutting-edge technology, and Phoebe Lawrence felt an undeniable thrill as the experimental stealth aircraft’s engines roared to life beneath her. The low hum vibrated through her entire body, and she gripped the control stick firmly, her knuckles whitening as the rush of adrenaline hit her bloodstream. This was her element—high stakes, razor-sharp focus, and the quiet understanding that her life rested in her own hands. She hated to admit it, but she’d missed this. Nothing could compare with being tasked for the inaugural test flight of a new jet. Nothing.

Outside the wraparound canopy, the night was pitch black, broken only by the faint, cold glow of the tarmac lights of Eielson Air Force Base. The Alaskan wilderness loomed beyond, a dark and endless void that seemed to echo the importance of the mission she’d just been briefed on.

Having served in the Air Force as a fighter and test pilot for a number of years, Phoebe had chosen not to re-enlist, much to the disappointment of her father, retired Colonel Richard Lawrence. She had been surprised to be asked to return to duty by her former commanding officer, Lt. Colonel Jessica Mitchell,for a top-secret mission for the Air Force’s newest stealth fighter, the Ghosthawk.

"We need real-world flight data," Mitchell had said, her voice calm but edged with an insistence that Phoebe couldn’t shake. When Phoebe had questioned her, her former CO admitted that they were afraid of sabotage. “You have no idea what this technology could do for us. It will put us light years ahead of our enemies.”

The mission had to be executed with precision, secrecy, and no room for error. The Ghosthawk’s experimental cloaking system—the centerpiece of the military’s future stealth technology—required a stress test over Alaska’s rugged terrain.

“We don’t have time to wait for ideal conditions. You know this terrain better than anyone,” Mitchell had added, her eyes locking with Phoebe’s. “No wingmen. No backup. You’ll be entirely off the grid for this one.”

Phoebe had nodded without hesitation. She didn’t need backup. She was the best damn pilot they could have gotten, and both she and Lt Col Mitchell had known it.

Now, sitting alone in the cockpit, Phoebe allowed herself a small, private smile. The Ghosthawk’s test flight was her op, her responsibility, and she relished the challenge.

They’d brought her in the day before and put her through a flight simulator. There had been no time for additional training. Having completed her final checks, Phoebe’s hands moved over the controls with ease. It all felt so easy—as if she had been there, testing new jets, forever. Every button, every switch was familiar territory, though the advanced systems on the Ghosthawk required an almost instinctual grasp of the cutting-edge technology. Everything had to go perfectly.

The voice of the ground controller crackled over her headset. “Ghosthawk, you’re cleared for takeoff.”

“Roger that,” she replied. Her voice was steady and calm. She pushed the throttle forward, and the jet surged down the runway like a predator released from its cage. The roar of the engines was deafening, even through her helmet, but she barely noticed as the plane lifted into the night sky with the grace of a shadow.

At ten thousand feet, she leveled off, the lights of the base disappearing into the blackness below. Above her, the dark canopy was almost bright with stars and the moon, and below, there was nothing but inky black. The instrument panels glowed softly in front of her, bathing the cockpit in an otherworldly light. It was mesmerizing and deadly, a perfect representation of the machine she now commanded.

She was over the Alaska Peninsula when she began to feel uneasy.

The first warning was subtle—an unusual flicker on her radar display. She frowned, tapping the screen with her gloved fingers. The radar cleared for a few seconds before static rippled across it like ghostly interference.

“Come on, don’t do this to me,” she muttered under her breath. She ran a diagnostic scan, but before the results could display, her altimeter started to spin wildly. A red alert blared as her artificial horizon suddenly destabilized.

Phoebe’s stomach clenched. This wasn’t a minor hiccup. This was a full-scale systems malfunction.

Her pulse quickened, but her training took over. She began flipping switches, attempting to reboot the primary systems. “Base, this is Ghosthawk. I’m experiencing critical instrument failure. Requesting support.”

Silence.

Her heart sank as she checked the communication link. Dead. Completely dead.

The Ghosthawk’s advanced systems weren’t supposed to fail—ever. And yet here she was, flying blind, thousands of feetabove the Alaskan wilderness with nothing but a faint horizon line and her experience to guide her.

Then came the second warning—a loud, shrill beeping. She glanced at the threat detection system, and her blood ran cold. A heat signature was approaching fast.

Missile lock.

Phoebe’s breath caught. “What the hell?—”

She shoved the stick forward, sending the Ghosthawk into a steep dive. The aircraft responded smoothly, its powerful engines screaming as it tore through the night. A streak of light shot past her starboard wing, a missile missing her by mere feet. The blast of its detonation illuminated the cockpit in a flash of fiery orange. Someone was trying to see that neither she nor the Ghosthawk ever came back.

Her mind raced. Who the hell had fired at her? There were no scheduled flights in this area, no one who should have known she was even in the air. She could see nothing out of the canopy and nothing on her radar—mainly because her radar was dead. She was a sitting duck.

Sabotage. Mitchell’s earlier words echoed in her head like a chilling prophecy.

Gritting her teeth, she yanked the controls, pulling the Ghosthawk into a series of severe evasive maneuvers. Another missile streaked by, this one closer than the first, shaking the aircraft with its proximity.

Sweat beaded on her forehead. She needed to think. Fast.

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