Little Moon, Almost Full

Chapter 3: What the Paper Said

I arrived at the hangar at nine the next morning with a notebook, two coffees, and no ring.

Adrian was standing beside the Aster, reading a document on a tablet. He had changed into a clean shirt, though a smear of oil remained near his wrist.

"You came," he said.

"I said I would."

"People say things all the time."

"I know."

I offered him the coffee. He took it without comment and led me to the project office, a small room crowded with plans, filing cabinets, and spare chairs. I sat across from him while he opened a file.

"These are the Westbridge certifications," he said. "The assemblies passed their inspection last month. The material traceability is included."

I looked through the pages. I wasn't an engineer. In my first life, I'd been a risk analyst for a manufacturing company, and that skill had followed me into Lydia's memories as a kind of practical instinct. Dates, signatures, purchase orders: I knew how to notice when they didn't fit together.

The document in front of me was stamped as a final inspection. The delivery record showed the parts had arrived two days later.

"Am I reading this wrong?" I asked.

Adrian leaned over the page. "Which one?"

"The inspection date. It's earlier than delivery."

"That's possible. Westbridge inspects before shipping."

"Then why does the form say final inspection completed at the Vale facility?"

He took the paper. "It doesn't."

"There's a check mark beside facility inspection."

"That could be a clerical error."

"It could."

He looked at the date again, then pulled a second page closer. I watched his finger move between the batch number and the delivery receipt.

"Same batch," he said.

"So someone certified something they hadn't inspected."

"Or checked the wrong box."

"Could be."

He looked at me. "You were an analyst?"

"Not in this life."

"I'll take that as a yes."

I wasn't ready to explain my other life. I wasn't sure I wanted to. "It's worth checking."

Adrian shut the file, then opened another. "The program manager signed the acceptance. We can ask Westbridge to confirm."

"Will your board let you delay a test over a box?"

"Probably not."

"Then ask anyway."

He set down the tablet. "You came here to break our engagement."

"I did."

"Now you're telling me to delay my plane."

"Both things can be true."

"Do you think you're going to save me?"

"No."

The answer landed between us with a little more force than I intended.

Adrian's jaw shifted. "Then why are you here?"

"Because I think there is a problem, and you have the right to know."

"That's not the same as caring."

"I didn't say it was."

He picked up his coffee and took a sip. "You keep saying you don't want to marry me, then you bring me coffee and look through my paperwork."

"I'm trying to be decent."

"That is not the same as being honest."

The words stung because they were true. I hadn't told him why I recognized the plane, or why the date mattered. I'd given him a warning without a source and called that decency.

"I know how it sounds," I said. "I can't tell you everything yet."

"Then don't ask me to trust it."

"I didn't."

He moved his chair back. "All right. I'll check the form. You're still not responsible for what happens to the Aster."

"I know."

"Do you?"

I looked at him. "I'm not asking you to keep our engagement. I'm not offering to stay because you might get hurt. If you're waiting for me to become the loyal fiancée in some other version of this story, don't."

"Some other version?"

I froze.

Adrian's gaze sharpened. "What did you mean by that?"

"I meant the version your family wants."

"That isn't what you said."

"No. It isn't."

He watched me as if he could see a door I had just closed. I stood before he could ask another question.

"I'll leave you the notebook," I said. "The dates that don't match are marked."

"I can read."

"Then you won't need me."

I walked out of the office. At the door, I heard him call my name.

I stopped.

"If I find a real defect," he said, "I'll deal with it. Don't turn this into another promise."

"I won't."

I meant it. I also knew that if he found nothing, I would have to tell him why I was so certain.

Outside, the sky had clouded over. I sat in my car and opened the novel's old memory again, trying to retrieve the detail I'd missed.

In the story, the aircraft was not supposed to crash during the first test.

It was supposed to crash three years later, on the day the company celebrated its first public demonstration.