Page 20 of Aviatrix

“We need a moment,” he says to the four Secret Service agents flanking us.

They give us space. Barely enough to pretend we’re alone.

Lark turns to face me, his eyes no longer steel but something softer. Something almost human. I hate him for it. Hate that after everything today, part of me still wants to collapse into him. Pretend he's still my safe place.

But he’s not. Not anymore.

And I can’t ignore what I saw.

A wave of nausea rises. Oh god. He cheated on me. And I watched it happen.

“You look like you’re about to be sick,” he says.

“Yeah,” I mutter. “A lot of things in my head right now make me want to throw up.”

He lifts a hand like he might touch me. His fingers hover, but I step back, folding my arms tight across my chest.

“What do you want, Lark?” It lands cold. “What’s this about?”

He exhales slowly. “You know how my father is.”

I nod stiffly. Wingard C. Jones. President of the United States. National treasure. Global tyrant. Polished power addict. Just like his son.

“We’re briefing him first,” Lark says. “Then heading to San Diego.”

“California?” I falter. San Diego’s a naval hub. Not exactly a match for what happened at an air base. “Why there?”

“That’s not important right now,” he says quickly. “Just… let me do the talking when we see him.”

I let out a humorless laugh. “What don’t you want him to know, Lark? That while aliens leveled Langdon, you were screwing your secretary?”

His jaw ticks. “I’d prefer you didn’t mention Gina.”

“Who’s Gina?” I ask. The words come out hard. Like ice.

“My secretary.”

“Oh,” I say, tilting my head. “Didn’t realize she had a name.”

One of the Secret Service agents chuckles, then clears his throat quickly.

Lark doesn’t react. “You’ll let me take lead?” he asks.

I arch a brow. “Whatever you say, Colonel.”

“And… if we could keep the whole Gina thing just between us,” he adds, quieter now. “I’d rather not break the news to Amber right this second.”

Amber.

His daughter.

“She’s here?”

He nods. “Took an internship with my father about three weeks ago.”

I shift uncomfortably. Amber’s been through enough. Her mom, Lark’s first wife, died seven years ago from cancer. Amber was only twelve. No matter how bitter I feel, I’m not about to add to her pain. Not today, anyway.

“I won’t say anything,” I say quietly.