Page 15 of Aviatrix

Her logic was simple: if you were trapped in a burning house—no voice, no escape, no way to scream—who would kick the door down just because they knew? No hesitation. No questions. Just there.

She said it’s how you know who really loves you.

I knew my answer.

It was Eli.

Three days later, he broke up with me.

Now, years later, when the world is literally raining fire, he’s the one who’s here.

He’s still my Burning House Theory.

“This was taken twenty minutes ago,” the General says, snapping my attention back to the screen behind him. “The vessel is stationary over a stretch of open ocean.”

Someone raises a hand.

The General doesn’t even look. “No questions yet.” He gestures toward a second monitor. A new angle. A second ship. “As of now, we’re tracking four of these worldwide. We don’t know what they want. We don’t know how they bypassed detection. But we do know this—” He pauses, and the silence scratches the bunker raw. “They can hijack our tech. They can outfly our defenses. And they may attempt contact.”

Too late for that. They already have.

Eli squeezes my hand gently. I look at him, just for a second. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.

The General presses on. “Landlines and secured comms are the only way we communicate from here on out. Their arrival has jammed all cell activity. Assume every signal outside this bunker is compromised. We’re coordinating with allied forces. Our job here is to contain panic, consolidate survivors, and secure intel.”

His gaze locks on Lark. “You. Colonel.”

Heads turn. Lark straightens.

“Sir.”

“You and your team managed to hold this base. Others wouldn’t have been so lucky. I’m putting you in charge of a new division. Alien Warfare.”

Alien Warfare.

The words feel surreal, even now.

So, they really do exist.

I’ve seen their ships. Heard their voices. Felt their shadow.

But hearing it from the General? That makes it real. That makes it war.

They’re here for something called the Legion. I don’t know what it is, or why I’m the one they told. But they sought me out.

Why?

“Yes, sir,” Lark’s reply crackles through my thoughts.

“You’ll lead the debrief for air response. Your team. Your call, Cobra.”

Cobra. Lark’s call sign. I used to think he earned it for being striking and calculated.

The truth hurts more than I expected.

He’s not a cobra. He’s just a snake.

The General’s eyes sweep the bunker one last time. “We don’t know what they want. But if we don’t figure it out soon…” The rest is silence—sharp, heavy, and final. Then, finally, “Dismissed.”