Page 28 of Aviatrix

The horizon stretches on forever.

Six hours later, we break through the haze over California. Flat desert stretching for miles, the kind of landscape that swallows secrets and never spits them back. Just like the ones I’ve tried to bury. About my father, about Lark, about what Eli still means to me. They don’t stay buried. Not really. They just wait for the right moment to surface again.

The airfield we land on isn’t marked on civilian maps. There are no welcome signs. Just barbed wire, sun-bleached hangars, and a dust-choked runway that looks like it hasn’t seen rain in years.

When we step off the jet, the heat hits like a wall. Dry. Relentless. Honest in a way Washington never is.

Lark adjusts the strap of his duffel, squinting into the light. “This place never changes.”

I glance around at the cracked pavement as the distant hum of a generator fills the emptiness.

“Feels like a graveyard.”

He doesn’t argue. Just grits out, “Let’s hope it doesn’t become one.”

We start walking toward whatever answers wait in the sand.

We’re greeted by two airmen who look older than the base itself, their faces worn by time and war.

“Colonel,” one of them greets Lark with a salute. “We have your bunker ready.”

We start to follow them inside when something stops me cold.

Parked just beyond the hangar, its surface slick black and brimming with quiet menace, is a custom-modified F-35A. Not standard issue. Not here by accident.

This is a skeleton crew base. It’s not technically on any map. I didn’t even know of its existence until a few hours ago.

So, why is that aircraft here?

My eyes shift. Leaning against the hangar wall like he belongs there, coiled tension and quiet arrogance, is Eli.

His flight suit unzipped at the collar. His expression infuriatingly calm. His eyes locked on me.

My breath catches and my gut flips. An uneasy cocktail of longing, distrust, and something that feels too much like hope for comfort.

“How did he find us?” I whisper.

“Why the hell is he here?” Lark growls, stepping half in front of me like a shield that’s both protective and territorial.

Eli pushes off the wall and strolls toward us, slow and sure.

“That was some press conference,” he says, a lopsided grin tugging at his lips.

“Are you stalking us now?” Lark fires off, shoulders tense.

Eli smirks. “I would never stalk you, Colonel. That’s a crime in all fifty states.”

I slip around Lark and draw in a breath. “Why are you here, Eli?”

His smile falters. For a moment, his green eyes soften, something fragile flashing behind them. “Maybe I needed to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh, cut the crap,” Lark snaps. “You showed up mid-attack at a black site, and now here you are at an off-the-books airfield right before your ex walks off a government transport? That’s not concern, that’s surveillance.”

Eli slips a hand into the pocket of his flight suit, gaze still locked on mine. “Are you okay, Quay?”

I want to say yes. I want to believe I’m fine. But the last two days have been anything but fine. And seeing him again? It rattles me. Because part of me still feels safer near him than I should.

“I’m okay,” I say softly.