Page 57 of Aviatrix

Frances exhales slowly. “That doesn’t sound like the Lark I knew.”

“Didn’t sound like the Lark I knew, either,” I reply, bitterly. “But maybe none of us ever really knew him.”

“Do you know if he’s found his daughter?” Frances asks.

I shake my head. “No. Not yet.”

“I remember when Amber was born.” Her gaze drifts somewhere distant. “Feels like a lifetime ago.”

It wasn’t. Only nineteen years.

Man, I’m snappy today.

I take a steadying breath. The tiredness is really sinking in. But a question bubbles up. What was Lark like with Amelia? With his wife?

“Did you like Amelia?” I don’t know why I ask. Maybe I want to know if she was better than me. Or worse.

Frances shrugs. “She was okay. They had a rocky relationship.”

That’s… surprising. Lark always made it sound like they had the perfect marriage. Then again, he acted like we had the perfect engagement, too.

“I didn’t know that.”

“They knew each other from his hometown,” she explains. “High school sweethearts or something. They broke up before he started at the Academy. Got back together. Broke up again. She got pregnant not long after the Academy, so he married her a few weeks later.”

I swallow hard as my thoughts snarl into a knot. I’ve never known Lark to be indecisive or wishy-washy. But I know seasoned, forty-two-year-old Lark. I never knew Academy Lark.

“He’s always painted a very different picture when he’s talked about her,” I divulge.

Frances raises an eyebrow. “Yeah. That’s strange, isn’t it?”

Is she implying there was something off about Lark’s marriage?

Before I can ask, a shadow falls across the table. Eli, shirtless, looms over us, his eyes locked on me.

I hate how devastatingly good he looks half-naked.

“I thought I told you that where you go, I go,” he says.

I lift my coffee mug. “I needed caffeine. You snore.”

Eli scoffs. “I do not.”

“How would you know?” I retort.

“I had a sleep study done a year ago,” he fires back. His eyes drop to my chest. His sweatshirt. Shit.

“Are you wearing my hoodie?”

“It was dark when I left.”

He exhales through his nose, muttering, “I’m getting coffee. Then, we’re sparring.”

I let out a full-bodied laugh. “The sparring ring? What is this, boot camp?”

“Aliens,” he says plainly. “We’ve got to stay sharp.”

I roll my eyes.