Christian's POV If someone had told me, a year ago, that I'd wake up on a Tuesday and willingly jump out of a plane, I would've laughed politely and then go back to my schedule. I didn't have time for things without purpose. No room for impulse. I had a company, a son, a marriage I protected like it was an entire country. And yet, there I was. Standing in a hangar, the smell of fuel in the air, cold wind cutting through the metal structure, wearing a jumpsuit that didn't belong in any official photo. Marcus walked beside me with that usual air of his—half amused, half brilliant—like the world was a well-written joke only he fully understood. "Are you sure this sounded like a good idea?" he asked, eyeing the instructor like he was assessing a wild animal. "No," I said, adjusting my watch like that might restore some sense of normalcy. "But I'm also not sure staying on the ground is better." Marcus let out a short, humorless laugh. "That was dramatic." "I'm in a hanga
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