Page 55 of Aviatrix

He reaches for my arm. “Quay, I need you to stay here.”

I yank away, chin lifted. “I’d rather be hit by enemy fire than be stuck in this room with you.”

“You’re not cleared to roam the base,” Eli exhales. “They don’t trust you.”

“What?”

“I vouched for you,” he admits. “I have to… watch you. If you’re not sleeping here, then I’m sleeping wherever you are.”

“Let me guess. This is because of Lark?”

“He went rogue after being named lead on Alien Warfare and you were with him. His orders were to stay in D.C. at the White House. With his father.”

“But he left. He abandoned his post.”

“And he took you with him.”

Guilty by association.

Lark, still screwing me over even when he’s three thousand miles away.

“He must know something then,” I whisper, hating that Eli’s right. Hating that I’m trapped between the only two men who’ve ever broken my heart.

“Fine.” I toss my things on the bed. “I’ll sleep here.”

Eli exhales in relief.

“But if you think I’m going to follow your orders while I’m stuck under your supervision, think again.”

He yawns. “Wouldn’t dream of commanding you.”

I could throw a comeback. Something sharp. But I settle for, “One of these days, Major, you’ll be taking orders from me.”

Eli grins. “I hope it’s in a bed. Naked.”

Cocky bastard.

I don’t give him the satisfaction of a smile. But I don’t throw a pillow at him either. Maybe that’s its own kind of surrender.

THIRTEEN

WHAT IS THIS, BOOT CAMP?

I wake before the sun, groggy and sore. My head throbs in a dull rhythm, and my limbs feel like lead. And it’s cold. Too cold. Why?

In the dark, I fumble through the small dresser by the door until my fingers brush against fabric. A sweatshirt. I pull it over my head without thinking.

Citrus, mint, and jet fuel.

Eli’s.

I should change. I don’t. I need coffee more than dignity right now. I need to move.

The corridor feels endless, sterile. But the scent of brewing coffee and frying bacon pulls me forward like a thread.

No one stops me. I pour a mug, grab a plate—eggs, bacon, nothing fancy—and settle into a metal chair in the far corner of the mess hall.

The first sip of coffee hits like medicine.