Page 115 of Aviatrix

It’s not a big ask. Cordial. Not warm. Just professional. Two people trying to keep the wheels from falling off while everything burns.

“I’ll try,” I say.

He nods. “Atlas is in charge while I’m gone. And I’ve reinstated your flying privileges.”

“Seriously? Why?”

“If it had been you,” he says, “I wouldn’t have waited either.”

My chest tightens. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Just promise me you’ll be careful next time you sneak off.” His mouth tugs into a small, almost-smile.

“I will.”

He checks his watch. “I’ve got to head to the control room. Wreckage site recovery.”

“Will you let me know what they find?”

“Yeah.”

I watch him grab a bowl of oatmeal and place it on his tray beside the banana. Something tugs in my chest. I used to hate oatmeal. Until Lark made it for us every morning. Until it tasted like routine. Like home.

“I’ll catch up with you later, Kin,” he says as he walks off.

I stare at the breakfast line. Three years of oatmeal. That ends today.

Today, I’m choosing waffles.

The world might be nearing its end, but I still have to try to eat. I promised Eli.

“You’re three minutes late,” Thea groans as I walk into the briefing room, tray in hand.

“You being fifteen minutes early cancels it out,” I say, yawning as I drop into the chair with my food. The waffles are golden, crisp, untouched. But they look like defiance. Like I’m choosing not to remember what oatmeal used to mean.

“We’ve got a lot to cover,” Gary says, already all business. “And only so much time before Nova and Glitch have to report to the Alien Warfare meeting.”

“Let’s dig in,” Scooter announces.

Gary turns to him. “You first. Update on D.C. and alien contact.”

Scooter holds up a small screen. “We’ve got eyes on the warehouse in real time.” The footage is grainy, black-and-white. “No pedestrians yet. Two cars passed, both checked out. Local business owners from the same street. But surveillance is active.”

“Let me see that,” I say, hand outstretched.

He passes it over. I study the screen. Broken windows. A rusted chain across the front doors. A faded No Trespassing sign. It looks abandoned. Too bad it’s not.

I hand it back and pick up my fork. My stomach gurgles like it’s threatening me if I go through with it.

Gary continues. “Any headway making contact with the aliens?”

“Not yet,” Scooter says. “Give me a day or two.”

“Glitch,” Gary says, turning to Thea. “What’d you find on Calvin Shoemaker and his connection to the Legion?”

Thea stands and starts passing out sheets. Walker’s photo stares up at me from the paper. Neat uniform, sharp posture. He looks stable in this picture. The man I met in that diner? Not even close. His bronze eyes were wrong. Off. Like they’d seen something too big to ever forget.

Thea starts her report. “Calvin Shoemaker’s call sign was Walker. He was married to Agatha Shoemaker for thirteen years. Divorced twenty-five years ago. She went into rehab for a year. After that, he raised their daughter alone. Agatha stayed clean for a bit, but relapsed. No one’s heard from her since.”