KAT
Homecoming
Takeshi discovers turbulence at thirty thousand feet tastes like challenge requiring immediate electrical response. The cabin lights strobe in rhythm with his tantrum, static building until my hair stands straight up and Dave's blessing flares bright enough to make Kara reach for weapons on pure instinct.
"No." I catch our black-furred son mid-leap toward his carrier's wall, feeling electricity ground through enhanced skin that barely registers the voltage. "The plane is supposed to move like this. You're not under attack."
His consciousness pulses indignation through our bond—Wrong-feel-bad-fix.
"Can't fix physics, baby." But I'm already flooding the connection with reassurance, maternal certainty that turbulence is normal rather than threat. "Just air moving around us
