Page 169 of Aviatrix

For now.

“And the warehouse?” Gary barks.

I hold my breath again.

The image flickers. A blazing inferno appears on-screen. Firefighters struggling against a storm of flame. The aliens blasted straight through the roof. The warehouse is gone.

The exhale I manage is shaky and painful. A mix of relief and dread.

Lark swings toward me, fire in his eyes. “Get Sasha on the damn phone. Now!”

I flinch, my body responding before my brain can. Without a word, I push off the wall, grab the doorknob, and slip into the hallway.

If I get through to Sasha, I don’t want to be in the room with him when I do.

“Nova!” Thea chases after me down the corridor.

“Not the time!” I yell over my shoulder as I veer left and head straight for the briefing room.

Her timing could not be worse.

“We need to talk!” she calls again, louder this time.

If she wanted to talk, she had a dozen chances between the desert base and now.

“Later,” I snap, wrenching open the door to the briefing room.

I stop short.

Eli and the General are mid-conversation, their voices low, expressions tight.

“Quay,” Eli says as he rises to his feet. “Come in.”

Thea catches up just as I step inside.

“This is a private conversation,” the General says flatly, his gaze landing squarely on her.

“Later then,” Thea says, her tone hopeful.

I nod once. “Yeah.”

I shut the door behind me as she takes a reluctant step back.

Saved by the General. Seriously.

When I turn back to face them, a cold weight settles in my stomach.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

Eli exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. “The Pentagon has three hours to evacuate before a planned alien strike. Only a few upper level officials know.”

My breath catches. “Three hours?”

That’s more than enough time to get everyone out. Right?

The General nods. “Space Command made contact. Rourke’s at the Pentagon. According to our intel, he’s sealed inside it. No one gets in or out. The exterior has been reinforced by pulse-locks. Not even our internal override codes will work. We can’t deploy ships. They’re on a physical lockdown. 26,000 people.”

“He can’t do that,” I argue, the words sharp and reflexive.