Page 24 of Aviatrix

“Kinley?” Her voice is raw, teetering between panic and relief. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I lie, automatically. “It’s just been… a long day. I’m sure you’ve seen the news.”

“Why didn’t you call sooner?” she cries. “I was so worried.”

Guilt settles low in my gut. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’ve been stuck in briefings since it happened.”

“I heard you were alive from that old boyfriend of yours, Ezra something? The mouthy one with dimples whose voicemail was always full.”

“Eli Kopelman,” I say quietly.

She inhales sharply. “He called me, Kinley. I thought it was some kind of scam.”

“I’m really sorry.” I close my eyes, pressing my knuckles to my forehead. Eli called her? That’s not like him. “I should’ve called sooner.”

“I’m just so thankful you’re alright,” she says, crying harder now. “God, I’ve been so scared.”

“I’m in D.C. for the night,” I tell her. “There’s a press conference tomorrow, then… I don’t know. I’ll keep you updated.”

There’s a pause. “They’re saying you were attacked by a foreign entity. What does that mean?”

I grab the remote and turn on the TV. There’s footage of the base. The screen shows smoke, not sky. Rubble, not wreckage. There’s no mention of ships. No mention of names. Nothing about what really happened.

“They haven’t said anything else?” I ask.

“No. Just… foreign forces. No one knows what’s going on.”

How the hell have they kept this quiet?

“I’ll let you know more when I can,” I say. “But I have to go. More briefs.” It’s a lie. One of the easier ones.

“I love you, Kinley.”

“I love you, too, Mom.”

I hang up and crawl into bed.

My skin aches. My hair aches. My soul aches.

My father vanished with the sky beneath his wings. Lark disappeared into someone else’s arms. And Eli? He used to say I was his gravity. But he was born to fly.

Maybe I should’ve seen this coming. Maybe the universe was just keeping score.

Even with aliens on the horizon, all I feel is the wrongness in my bones.

So, I fall asleep to the quiet hum of the White House air vents and dream of burning houses and phantom pilots.

And of Eli Kopelman.

Always arriving at the perfect time.

Always leaving too soon.

SIX

A VERSION OF HIM I DON’T KNOW ANYMORE

I pin my auburn hair into a low bun, palms slick with nerves. I’ve never stood in front of cameras like this. Never had to watch history bleed in public.