Page 53 of Aviatrix

“Fuck the secrets out of him?” Eli supplies flatly.

A sharp pain cuts through my chest like a blade. I lift a hand and press it there, as if that could soothe the ache. “Don’t say it like that.”

Eli studies me, his green eyes flashing with an array of emotions. Pity. Concern. Fondness. Warmth. “Did you see the folder?”

“Project Aviatrix,” I breathe. “Yeah. What is it?”

His gaze drops straight to my lips.

The air thins like it's being siphoned out of the room.

And God, I’m tempted. To close the space. To kiss him. To lose myself in him and forget that my world is falling apart.

It wouldn’t fix anything, but maybe, for a moment, it would numb the ache. He’ll leave. He always does. Fly off into another mission, another secret. But maybe this time, it would make me feel something other than this empty, crumbling nothing.

It used to.

Just two inches. Two inches, and I know he’d let me. He’d let me use him if that’s what I needed.

But it’s not what I need.

And it’s not what I want.

Not when it comes to him.

He lifts his arm and rests it against the door above my head, close enough to stir my skin. And by the way he’s looking at me, like I’m gravity, I know he’s tempted, too.

“Project Aviatrix,” I manage to say. “What is it?”

Eli drops his arm. Steps back. Puts space between us.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I was hoping the Colonel might.”

“He doesn’t,” I shoot back. “He knows nothing.”

Eli laughs, low and disbelieving. “He knows a hell of a lot more than he’s telling you.”

“No,” I snap, defensive. “He would’ve told me.”

“Like he told you he was fucking his secretary?”

The words hit like a slap. My ears ring. My chest squeezes. My hands curl into fists.

“Stop throwing that in my face.” I wrap my arms around myself like a shield. “I know he was. I saw it with my own eyes.” It comes out broken. Raw. Too real.

“I’m sorry,” Eli says, each word laced with regret. “But the Colonel knows more than he’s letting you believe.”

If Lark lied, what else is he hiding? And why does everyone keep skirting around Project Aviatrix like it’s classified fire?

“Do you have proof?” I ask.

He opens his mouth… then closes it.

If he does, he won’t share it. If he doesn’t, he’s making accusations on instinct. And Eli’s instincts? They’re never wrong.

“What does he know?” I press.

“It doesn’t matter,” he deflects. “Let’s just get some sleep.”