Page 186 of Aviatrix

Hope. Useless, fragile thing.

But then Gary swears up ahead. “Dammit!”

“What?” I ask, dread spiking.

“We’ve been going the wrong way,” he says, panic cracking through his voice. “And we’re almost out of time. We need to get out of here. Soon.”

“How much time?” I shouldn’t be asking, but I am.

He shakes his head.

“How much?” I demand, just as Amber’s sobs sharpen behind us.

“Six minutes,” he says grimly.

“Shit,” Eli groans.

“A few years ago,” Sasha chimes in, “Space Command installed a tunnel. I can’t remember what it’s called—”

“Insurance,” Lark interjects. “Where is it?”

“Close,” Sasha says.

“Let’s try it,” Eli decides.

Then, we’re moving again as the countdown begins.

Sasha leads us straight to the tunnel, which turns out to be a low-level maintenance corridor.

“There’s a manual override escape shaft,” she explains as we hurry down the red-lit hall.

“Look around for a warning system,” Gary calls out. “If there’s an escape shaft, then there has to be a defense mechanism somewhere.” He adds, “Look for a lever, a button, anything that will alert everyone.”

I run, lungs burning, scanning the walls.

Nothing.

Dammit.

We reach the shaft with minutes to spare. It’s only big enough for half of us. Three at a time.

“Go,” I urge Sasha and Amber, who’s still clinging to Lark.

“You’ll be fine,” Lark promises, gently guiding Amber toward the steel shaft. “I’ll find you after this.”

But Amber doesn’t let go. “Please, Dad. Please don’t make me go without you.”

Lark reaches for my arm, tugging me away from Eli. “Kinley is going with you this time.”

Didn’t he just tell me he was done choosing me? So why is he doing the one thing he said he wouldn’t?

“No, you should go,” I say. But he’s looking at me like he’d rather die than let me stay behind. And I see it. All of it. The anger. The regrets. The choices that brought us here. The ways he broke us.

And maybe I should feel bad for him. Maybe I should feel something more. But all I feel is sad. Sad that after everything, he’s trying to choose me… when I don’t even want him to.

“Choose your daughter, Lark.”

He swallows hard. For a beat, grief breaks across his face. It’s replaced by something more solid, like clarity.