Page 19 of Aviatrix

He’s the last part of an old world that still sees me clearly, standing on the wing of a jet, arms crossed, the wind tugging at his flight suit. His aviators hide his eyes, but I can feel them on me.

I lift a hand.

He lifts his.

We stay like that for a moment, suspended in everything we never said.

Then, I breathe in, slow and deep, and turn toward Lark.

His shirt is still misbuttoned. His posture stiff but commanding as he barks orders at a crew of overwhelmed techs.

We were going to get married. Build a life. And I almost did. Almost let him tether me to a lie. But he tore it all apart in one breathless, ugly second.

Maybe I always knew he would. Maybe that’s why I kept dodging the question every time he asked me to set a wedding date.

Lark doesn’t notice me at first. But when he does, something flickers across his face. Relief, maybe. Most likely regret.

He places a hand over his heart as if the sight of me makes it beat faster. Too bad that wasn't enough to stop him from cheating on me.

“Where are we headed?” I ask.

His hand grazes the small of my back as he leads me toward General Salamander’s helicopter. I want to slap it away, but I don’t. I’ve already given him too much of myself.

“D.C.,” he says.

I stop. Just for a beat. “To see your dad?”

Lark folds his arms, features solid like stone. “Yes.”

I exhale, long and low.

Because his father isn’t just anyone. He’s the Commander-in-Chief.

And if Gary’s right—if this invasion really did start from the top—then I’m not just walking into the lion’s den.

I’m walking straight into the White House.

With the President’s son.

FIVE

CAPTAIN QUAY, YOU’RE OUT OF LINE

I climb out of the blacked-out SUV into a concrete tunnel, the air stale and unmoving. My boots echo as I follow Lark, my heart heavy in my chest.

The ninety-minute helicopter ride to D.C. was torture. Sitting beside him, pretending I wasn’t coming apart, was its own kind of hell. I kept my face turned toward the window, wiping at stray tears when I thought he wouldn’t notice. Tears for the future I thought I had. For the base that raised me.

But nothing crushes my chest harder than the thought of my father.

I’ll never walk those hangars again. Never trace my hand over the rusted plate with his call sign. It’s gone. The last real piece of him, erased.

What I can’t shake is how. How did a base as secretive and off-record as Langdon get targeted with such precision? Someone leaked intel. Someone pointed them straight to our weak spot.

And those aliens—I still can’t believe they're actually real—hit us with surgical accuracy. They knew exactly what would cripple us.

Maybe Gary’s right. Maybe this isn’t an invasion, but a handoff. A betrayal. Maybe someone at the top gave them everything they needed.

Lark stops short, and I nearly run into him.