I never wanted to be on that staircase.

One year later.

The observation deck of Hangar 4 at Frankfurt International Airport smelled of jet fuel, cold rain, and hydraulic fluid—the sweetest scent in the world.

Below me, a brand-new Boeing 777X sat under the blinding halogen floodlights, its composite wings gleaming like burnished silver. My team of eight senior risk assessors moved across the fuselage with ultrasound scanners and laser micrometers, completing the final certification checklist for international commercial clearance.

I walked down the metal industrial staircase from the observation deck to the hangar floor.

No cane. No brace. No hesitation.

My left knee flexed smoothly, the titanium pins and reinforced tendon functioning with the flawless mechanical precision of a Swiss timepiece.

“Lead Inspector Vance!” a voice called across the hangar floor.

Marcus jogged over, holding a tablet displaying the thermal stress analytics for the engine cowlings. He looked thoroughly chastened, having spent the last twelve months realizing that he couldn't replicate my calculations if his life depended on it. “The wing-root shear analysis came back at zero-point-zero-two percent variance. We are fully within FAA tolerances.”

“Sign off on the certification, Marcus,” I said, checking the digital readout with a practiced eye. “Clear the aircraft for commercial delivery to Singapore.”

“Understood, Fallon,” Marcus said, nodding with genuine respect before hurrying back to the flight line.

I walked out of the hangar into the crisp German morning, pulling my wool trench coat tight against the wind.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

It was an email from Vesper:

*“Final disbursement completed. The bankruptcy trustee liquidated Stellin’s remaining assets and Sutton’s seized designer wardrobe. The court has transferred $412,000 into your private trust account as partial satisfaction of the civil judgment. Stellin was transferred to a minimum-security facility in Terre Haute this morning. Sutton is serving her second year at Las Colinas—her petition for early parole was denied yesterday due to multiple disciplinary infractions in the laundry facility.”*

I smiled, archived the email, and swiped to the next notification.

It was a text message, accompanied by a photograph of an architectural model for a stunning, timber-framed glass pavilion overlooking Puget Sound:

*“The foundation passed the seismic inspection today. No structural flaws detected. Still waiting on that dinner date. When does your flight land in Seattle? — Alden.”*

I typed my reply as I walked toward the terminal:

*“Wheels up from Frankfurt at noon. Table for two at eight. Make sure the restaurant has stairs—I want to walk up them.”*