Page 37 of Aviatrix

He shakes his head once. “Not sure yet. Could be a perimeter breach. Could be internal.”

Neither option is good.

A flicker of movement up ahead makes us both freeze. Then, the radio clipped to Lark’s belt crackles to life.

“Unknown contact on the east runway. I repeat, unknown contact, no visual confirmation.”

Another burst of static.

“Shit,” Lark mutters. He presses the button. “Copy. Nova and I are moving.”

“East runway?” I ask, heart jackhammering. “That’s where Eli took off.”

“I know,” he replies grimly. “Let’s move.”

Our boots thud against the concrete, each step louder than it should be. The air feels off. Almost as if the building is bracing itself for something. Could be the emergency lights washing everything in red. Like we’re bleeding before whatever it is makes itself known.

I’m on edge. This could be another attack that ends my life. Or worse, the world.

Lark swears under his breath and picks up the pace. I follow, pulse slamming in my ears.

We burst through the last set of doors and onto the tarmac just in time to see the silhouette of an aircraft breaking through the dust. Not Eli's jet. A transport. Smaller than a C-130, but fast.

It touches down with a screech. Sirens still howling. Ground crew scrambles toward it, weapons drawn. No one was expecting this. Not at a need-to-know outpost hidden off-grid.

The rear hatch drops. I squint through the haze.

A figure jogs down the ramp. Short. Lean. Confident.

My heart lodges itself in my throat.

“Glitch?” I call, already moving.

She yanks off her helmet, black curls tumbling down her shoulders. Her face is flushed. She meets my eyes and, for the first time in days, I feel a jolt of home.

“Captain,” she says, out of breath, grinning like she just stole a jet. “You look like hell.”

“You flew here alone!” I yell, hugging her before I can stop myself. Relief rushes through me, hot and overwhelming. For a moment, I forget the chaos around us. She’s here. Safe. And I’m not alone in this mess.

“Wasn’t exactly in the manual, but I had clearance. Sort of.” She glances past me at Lark. “Colonel.”

Lark lifts one shoulder, guarded.

“What triggered the sirens?” I wonder aloud.

“No clue,” she says. “I was ten minutes out when your system lit up like Vegas. Thought I was about to be intercepted.”

We glance around. No incoming threat. No visual contact. The sirens cut abruptly, too abruptly, like someone flipped a switch before the threat was even confirmed.

Lark pulls out his radio. “Stand down. Aircraft was friendly. Team member. Nova’s unit.”

“Copy,” a voice replies.

But the tension doesn’t lift. Something still feels off.

“Why are you here?” I ask, trying to make sense of it.

“We found your location,” she says softly, “but couldn’t reach you. Atlas didn’t want you thinking we’d forgotten.”