Firstclass Pov Link May 2026

But that’s the thing about first class. We’re the ones who go out first. The test pilots, the deep-space explorers, the ones who strap ourselves to bombs and call it progress. We’re supposed to be brave. Supposed to be curious. Supposed to look at the void and feel wonder, not this—hollow ache behind my sternum that I can’t quite name.

Outside, the universe keeps spinning. The scorch mark keeps fading. And somewhere, three hundred miles down, my mother is doing a downward dog in what used to be my bedroom. firstclass pov

A crackle in my helmet speaker. “Saito, this is Solstice. Status report.” But that’s the thing about first class

Click. The coupling seats. I check my pressure gauge. All green. I’ve been out here two hours. My oxygen is at seventy-four percent. Plenty of time. We’re supposed to be brave

And then I seal the outer hatch behind me, and the hiss of pressurization fills my ears, and I unclip my helmet, and the station air smells like metal and sweat and recycled failure. Reyes is waiting in the inner chamber, her face blank, professional. She hands me a rehydration pouch.

I take the pouch. Nod.