December 15, 2025 — 2:41 PM
Southbound, East China Sea — 190 Nautical Miles from Luzon
The sea stretched on forever—calm, deceptively peaceful, glittering under the weight of the afternoon sun.
Inside the Sea Phantom, Thomas Estaris kept both hands on the control yoke as the craft cruised smoothly over low, rolling swells at a steady twenty-two knots. The hum of the hybrid diesel-electric engines was the only sound besides the occasional faint chirp of the nav system recalculating drift corrections.
He hadn't spoken in an hour.
Not out loud. Not even to himself.
The silence was beginning to feel like a second skin.
The cockpit was tight, but comfortable—designed for long stretches of solo operation. The padding on the pilot seat had molded to the shape of his body. The filtered air system kept the humidity down. The tinted canopy glass shielded his eyes from the glare. Everything in the Sea Phantom was as it should be.
But he wasn't.
The salt on his skin still itched.
