Page 12 of Aviatrix

Only one of them still has my trust.

“I’m coming,” I say, and follow Eli down the stairs without looking back. Gary trails behind us. I don’t bother checking to see if Lark is keeping up.

Thea pulls off her helmet just as I jog toward her. Her black curls are plastered to her head, sweat streaking down her dirt-smudged face.

“You alright?” I ask, eyes scanning her for any obvious signs of injury.

She blows out a breath. “What was that? I’ve never seen anything fly like that before. It was like…” Her brow furrows. “Like they were alive.”

Aliens. They have to be aliens. Nothing else makes sense.

Gary’s intel was right. But why are they here? Why did they make contact with me? And who the hell is the Legion? Is it a place? A person?

I swallow hard, my stomach turning as I take in the damage. Debris. Asphalt. Broken jets. Bodies… So many bodies. People I know. Pilots. Ground crew. There’s even a high heel laying on what used to be part of the runway. There’s so much damage.

Across the field, Eli’s shout cracks through the air. “Hey, Fox! Over here!”

Thea and I turn to see Eli climbing on top of the only downed alien ship, trying to kick in what looks like a cockpit window. His movements are fast and furious.

I take a sobering breath, still trying to process everything, when Thea bumps my shoulder.

“Who’s the hottie?”

A perfectly reasonable question if we hadn’t just survived an alien invasion.

I exhale heavily. “My ex.”

Her jaw drops. “No.”

“Major Eli Kopelman,” I add grimly.

“The Eli Kopelman?” she gasps. “Like, the guy who holds the world record for fastest transatlantic flight?”

“Yeah,” I say with a tired nod. “I know.”

She laughs, teasing, a reprieve from death and destruction. “You really have a thing for badass pilots, huh?”

Before I can answer, Scooter jogs over and climbs onto the hull next to Eli, helping him scan the surface for an entry point. They're already gathering a crowd, half curiosity, half desperation.

“Relax,” we hear Scooter say to Eli. “I’ve slipped into tighter holes than this.”

Thea groans as I run a hand over my face.

Not the time, Scooter.

Not when there’s a few limping, bloodied pilots making their way over, recounting what they saw. The stories are fractured, surreal. Some swear the ships descended like rain. Others say they just appeared—popped—into the sky like they were folded into it.

I try to keep the details straight—altitudes, flight patterns, weapons capabilities—but one thought won’t stop looping in my mind. Why didn’t they fire on Scooter and Thea sooner? Because they didn’t want to?

They had control of our system. They could’ve taken them out the second we went live. But they didn’t. They spared them. Just like they spared me.

Why?

More importantly, what exactly are they looking for?

“Major Kopelman, stand down!” someone yells.

Lark.