Page 14 of Aviatrix

If it stings, even a little, I’ll hold Eli’s hand all damn day.

We walk like that, fingers laced, silence thick until the door groans shut behind us. Smoke. Sirens. Gone.

Inside, the world changes.

The air turns cold. Stale. The lights buzz to life in harsh white strips.

Rows of battered soldiers, dirt-smeared officers, and bruised techs crowd the space. No one speaks. No one relaxes.

We made it. But no one looks relieved.

General Salamander arrives, already briefed by my lying, selfish ex-fiancé.

Flanked by two stone-faced aides, the General surveys the room like he’s already counted our sins.

I’ve only seen General Salamander twice before. Once when my dad disappeared, and then again at my Academy graduation. The man is pure presence—navy suit, ebony skin, and charcoal eyes. His reputation precedes him. Renowned tactician, battlefield strategist, and, from what I’ve heard, the kind of leader who doesn’t give a damn about politics.

The kind of man you want speaking to a room full of survivors.

“I won’t waste your time,” he says, low and certain. “You’ve already lost too much of it.”

The words ripple through the bunker like a shockwave. Chairs scrape. Conversations die.

He taps a button. The screen behind him flickers to life. Clouds. Atlantic surf.

An ominous shadow.

It swells, spreading until it devours the entire screen. A massive black craft, wide as a city.

“This,” Salamander says, flat but heavy, “is hovering over the Atlantic.”

Gasps echo around the room. Thea curses under her breath. The General says nothing else. Just watches us. Waits.

I should tell him that they made contact in the tower. That they didn’t come in guns blazing because they didn’t have to. Because they already knew where to find us.

But I don’t. Not yet. Not with Eli beside me. Not with Lark watching. Not when I don’t even know what they really want.

And in the silence that follows, one thought slams through me so hard I nearly flinch.

What if they didn’t just come for the Legion?

What if they came for me?

FOUR

HE’S NOT A COBRA, HE’S JUST A SNAKE

Eli’s leg rests against my thigh as the entire bunker holds its breath.

Normally, I’m not the touchy-feely type. But with him, it’s different. I reach for his hand, just to steady myself. Like I used to so many times before everything fell apart.

He doesn’t hesitate. Our fingers tangle together in his lap and for a moment, I let myself breathe.

When we graduated from the Academy eight years ago, Eli and I stayed out late, celebrating at our favorite off-base bar. A place called the Flight Deck. It was a hotspot for cadets who needed to blow off steam. That night was karaoke night. I’m not much of a singer, but Eli… he doesn’t just fly better than anyone I know. He can sing, too.

I watched from a small table in the back, nursing a beer. He and his buddies passed the mic, half-sloshed and all grins.

Mom had flown in for the ceremony but left early for her hotel. Before she walked out of the bar, she left me with a piece of advice I’ve never been able to shake. She called it the Burning House Theory. Something she came up with when Dad disappeared.