Page 146 of Aviatrix

“After the White House attack, the General suspected that someone in a high position—someone with something to gain from the President’s death—might be behind it all. At the time, we still believed the aliens were responsible. But there were whispers. Hints in the ranks that someone had invited them here.”

Panic slips down my spine. “Do we know who?”

Eli shakes his head. “Whoever it is, they’re airtight. No leaks. No footprints. But Rourke wasn’t at the White House. He wasn’t at the President’s funeral. The General believes he’s the one pulling strings from the shadows.”

My thoughts race. Can we trust the General? Especially after he lied about having contact with Eli? He had time to plan a secret mission for his favorite pilot. But what about the rest of the Alien Warfare team? Why didn’t he care whether we lived or not?

“The gray ships are human,” Eli continues. “We’ve confirmed it, which is why I was in Wisconsin. There’s a manufacturing facility out there. I flew recon. Got aerials and video. They’re building more aircraft by the hour. All the ships coming off the line are identical to the ones that tailed me and the same one that tried to attack Quay before we diverted to Oklahoma. Sleek gray, blacked-out cockpit. Nothing like the alien ones we saw at Langdon.”

Lark frowns. “Rourke’s working with AI-controlled ships built right here on Earth, while everyone thinks it’s aliens.”

“Exactly,” Eli says. “It’s a setup. A diversion.”

Lark runs a hand over his face, his polished control finally cracking. “This is not good.”

“The General’s working on countermeasures,” Eli says, lowering his voice. “But he’s under constant surveillance. Everything we send is coded. We’re running out of time and channels. He broke protocol just to warn me you were in trouble at the funeral.” He meets my gaze. “I got there as fast as I could.”

“Who’s surveilling the General?” I ask. Could this be why he lied to Lark?

“Probably the same people keeping eyes on Jan,” Lark answers, jaw tight. “She’s had to switch to code as well.”

Both the General and the Secretary of Defense are being watched? That’s not political strategy. That’s unlawful surveillance.

“Do we still think this is Rourke?” I glance between them. “Is he really the threat?”

Lark exhales hard. “Is Rourke even smart enough to orchestrate all of this?”

Eli smirks, no humor in it. “No. He’s just a pretty face in a polished suit.”

The words hit like ice water. If it’s not Rourke pulling the strings, then who is? And how deep does this go? My mind races. We’ve been chasing shadows, aligning our strategy around the assumption that Rourke was the nucleus of this corruption, but what if he’s just another pawn? A mouthpiece. A distraction.

A hollow chill blooms in my chest.

If someone smarter, more calculated, is running this operation from behind the scenes—someone who’s remained invisible even now—we’re already ten steps behind. It makes everything we’ve done feel small. Reactionary. And it makes Jan’s evasiveness, the General’s silence, the way Frances, Lark’s trusted Academy friend, practically laughed in our faces feel louder now. More urgent.

What if this isn't just about one man?

And if isn’t, then whoever is running this already has people inside our circle.

“What do we do then?” I ask, but I already feel the tremor in my throat.

“We talk to the General,” Lark says, turning to Eli. “Can you get him here?”

“I can try,” Eli replies, already thinking ahead.

“Then, that’s where we start,” Lark decides. “After that, we figure out where Rourke might hit next.”

“I still don’t get it,” I murmur. “Frances said he wants power, but power over what? The U.S.? The world? Something else?”

“I don’t know, Kin,” Lark admits, and the uncertainty in his voice makes something inside me coil.

But Eli doesn’t take it so gently. “Whatever he wants,” he snaps, “it’s getting damn inconvenient for the rest of us.”

The tension in the room thickens with every breath. It’s coiling tighter, and if no one shatters it soon, we’ll all suffocate under the weight of what we don’t say. Time to defuse it with the only secret I’ve kept from both of them.

“My turn,” I say quietly.

Both heads turn toward me, expectant.