With my helmet in hand, I walked through the hangar with Solo biting his tongue beside me. Ever since we’d stepped out of the classroom he’d looked as though he had something on his mind, and I wondered if he’d actually say whatever it was before we got up in the air. He’d been quiet, too quiet, and it was starting to bother me more than what I was about to face. I gave him a sideways glance. “Solo, spit it out. I know you’re dying to.” “I’m not much of a spitter, but you already—” “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” “But—” “Solo.”
