Page 26 of Aviatrix

For the last three months, she shared Lark with me.

That realization hits me harder than I expect as I hurry after him.

She knew his mornings, his yawns, and his muttered curses before coffee. She heard the edge in his voice when command pushed too hard. She probably knew which brand of gum he chewed and when he skipped meals.

I used to know those parts of him. I used to remind him to eat. To sleep. I used to be the one who saw him first thing in the morning.

And now, she’s dead.

I don’t know what I’m feeling. Disgust? Sadness?

She wasn’t just a mistake. She was a person. A casualty. Another name we’ll never read aloud.

And somehow, her death hurts in a way I wasn’t prepared for.

Not because I knew her. But because she knew a version of him I don’t know anymore.

Lark’s fingers brush mine, and for a split second, I’m back in the before. When we used to be a team. When we used to share everything—grief, victories, even a future I was stupid enough to believe in.

Now, we’re sharing silence. Ghosts. Regret.

And yet, that small touch… he relaxes.

I don’t.

Because I see it now. The press doesn't know who Gina was to him. They don’t know that one of the women behind the curtain—the woman behind him—just died an hour ago. They’ll never ask about her. Never mention her name. She’ll become one of the thirty-three. Thirty-four now.

But Lark is here, straight-backed and square-jawed, preparing to speak like nothing inside him cracked even though I know it did.

And I hate that it still gets to me. That I can still feel proud of the way he commands a room, even when he’s breaking my heart with every word he doesn’t say.

Lark adjusts the mic, gaze unwavering, shoulders locked.

“Good morning. My name is Colonel Lark Jones, and I am here today not only as a ranking officer in the United States Air Force, but as a man grieving the loss of thirty-four members of our military family.”

He pauses. Lets the weight settle.

“On the afternoon of May 2nd, Langdon Air Station, an off-record strategic training facility, was attacked. The assault lasted thirteen minutes. That was all it took to change everything we thought we knew.” I see the flicker in his throat as he swallows. “We are confirming that the origin of this attack was not of terrestrial design. We are not here to speculate. We are here to investigate, prepare, and respond. A new division, Alien Warfare, has been established to address this threat with transparency, integrity, and swift tactical development.”

Reporters shift. Pens scratch. The garden feels too quiet.

“Today, I stand before you not with answers, but with a promise,” he continues. “We will not back down. We will not be caught off guard again. And we will not let the names of the fallen be forgotten.” He grips the sides of the podium. Calm. Controlled. “To the families of the thirty-four: they served with honor. To those watching in fear: we serve with purpose. To those responsible: we are coming.”

As Lark finishes, silence ripples through the garden like a held breath. For a split second, I forget how angry I am with him. Because that? That was leadership. That was grief restrained by duty. That was the man I once believed in. Maybe I still do, though I hate myself for it.

But it’s also a lie. Or at least… a partial truth.

He didn’t mention the contact. The language. The way the aliens knew my name and where to find me. About the reason they came—for the Legion. What if it’s not a person or a place? What if it’s something else entirely? What if it’s a top secret aircraft? Langdon is known for its experimental channels. Did we create something that attracted them?

A reporter to our left thrusts his hand in the air like a missile launch.

“Colonel Jones! Are you saying definitively that we are not alone in the universe?”

“Colonel, what is the current threat level?”

“How do we know this isn’t a foreign adversary using advanced tech?”

“Is the government covering up an ongoing invasion?”