Page 1 of Aviatrix

ONE

YOU SPINELESS BASTARD

Of all the asinine things Lark Jones has ever done, this one takes the whole damn cake.

He’s half-dressed. His ashy-blond hair is tangled, lips wet, and dog tags are swinging like some bad punchline.

My gaze drifts to his secretary as she fumbles with her skirt behind him.

I should say something measured. Something dignified.

But all that comes out is, “You’re an asshole.”

I rip the engagement ring off my finger and hurl it at him. It smacks against his chest, right over his smug, lying heart. He actually has the nerve to wince. Guess he should’ve sprung for a smaller diamond.

“Kin—” he starts, but I’m already moving.

His secretary? How did I not see this coming?

My radar for liars must have broken the day my father vanished. Maybe I should’ve tossed it in the Atlantic with him. Would have saved me a world of heartbreak.

“Don’t,” I snap as I head for the door.

“Just let me explain,” Lark says, panicked, as he rushes after me, his footsteps scuffing against the faded linoleum. Desperate. Pathetic.

“No.” I whirl around, fury boiling in my chest. He stops in front of me and, at six feet tall, he shrinks beneath my glare. “You vanished for two weeks. I let it go. James had just died. I didn’t push when you said it was a classified mission. Then, you proposed and that’s when I found that sketchy text thread on your phone. I knew something was off. But I trusted you.” I shake my head. “We’re done.”

“Wait—”

The door slams hard enough behind me to rattle the frame. I should feel vindicated. Righteous. But all I feel is hollow.

I can’t believe I ever thought marrying him was a good idea. Worse, I said yes.

I still remember the proposal like it happened in a dream. Late summer. A quiet base weekend. We’d driven out past the perimeter fence to the dunes near Higbee Beach, where the sky is unnaturally blue and the air doesn’t taste like jet fuel.

He brought wine and a blanket. He didn’t talk much. Just stared out over the sea grass and ocean, thinking about something.

As the sun slipped lower on the horizon, he pulled out the ring like it hadn’t been burning a hole in his pocket, and said, “You’re the only person who keeps me steady, Kin. You’ve always been it.”

I didn’t cry. I think I was in shock. Lark never said things like that. Not out loud.

And when he slipped the ring onto my finger, I felt… chosen. Like maybe this version—quiet and certain—was real. And all the red flags and silent gaps were just stress. Just the job.

I told myself I trusted him.

Now, I know better.

The thought barely has time to settle before the ground hums beneath me. A low, deep, mechanical rumble echoing through the corridor.

I ignore it, anger still burning hot in my chest. If Lark thinks he can screw his secretary and I’ll still follow orders in the field, he’s got another thing coming. They didn’t nickname me Nova because I explode, then blur into obscurity. No, it’s because when push comes to shove, I show up bright and blinding. Not easily forgotten.

Another rumble, louder this time, vibrates up through the floor tiles. The overhead fluorescents flicker, briefly casting the hallway in shadow.

I finally stop walking.

It’s too quiet. No flight drills echoing from the tarmac. No comms chatter leaking through the walls. Just the strained groan of metal deep in the bones of the base.

Langdon’s main ops wing is mostly angles and echoes. Cement halls. Reinforced glass. Windowless briefing rooms. The faint, ever-present buzz of outdated wiring behind thin metal panels. It’s always been home to me.