Page 103 of Aviatrix

He laughs, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“I know.”

I watch as his gaze sweeps the hangar one last time—always calculating, always cautious—before he finally lowers his head and kisses me.

It starts soft. Hesitant.

His lips brush mine like a secret, like something we’re not quite allowed to have but take anyway. One hand caresses my cheek while the other presses gently to the small of my back, pulling me closer, anchoring me to him. My hands slide up the front of his flight suit, fingers curling into the collar like I don’t want to let go. Because I don’t. Not even close.

The kiss deepens. Still careful, still reverent, but laced with something neither of us are willing to name. Longing. Regret. The ache of things we missed and things we may never have.

When we part, he rests his forehead against mine. His breath is warm. And I memorize the shape of it. The sound. The weight.

Just in case.

“Eat and sleep,” Eli reminds me.

“Eat and sleep,” I echo as he turns toward the aircraft.

I wrap my arms around myself, chilled by more than just the wind.

I wonder if anyone ever gets used to this life—to the endless cycle of hellos and goodbyes and the never knowing which one will be the last. Never knowing if this moment is the one all the others were building toward.

Eli climbs the ladder and, at the top, lifts his arm to wave. I lift mine too, heart aching. Then, he drops into the cockpit and fires up the engine.

I follow him to the hangar’s edge, watching as he taxis down the short runway.

By the time I reach the doors, he’s already a blot on the horizon, just a smudge of motion in a sky too wide and too quiet.

I finally turn to head back inside—and freeze.

Amber is standing there, tears streaking down her cheeks.

“Hey,” I say awkwardly.

“How long?” she demands. “How long have you been cheating on my dad?”

There’s nothing to say, so I stay quiet.

“I saw you kiss him!” she shouts, the words reverberating through the hangar loud enough to turn heads. A nearby airman pauses mid-step.

“You need to talk to Lark,” I tell her.

Amber swipes furiously at her cheeks. “No. You need to tell him. You have to! How could you, Kinley? We trusted you!”

She’s unraveling. It’s loud, emotional, and drawing a crowd. But I can’t really blame her.

She lost her mom to a grueling cancer battle. Then, her grandfather in an alien invasion. She nearly died. Now she’s trapped in a mountain base, trying to hold on to something—anything—that feels solid.

And me? I’d be spiraling too, if I didn’t have so much riding on me not falling apart.

“You made him happy,” she sobs. “He was so happy when he found you.”

I should say something. Anything. But the only person I want to talk to just flew out of my life again.

“Amber?” Lark’s voice cuts across the hangar.

He’s striding toward us, every step heavy with awareness.