Page 62 of Aviatrix

The one I’m not sure I’m ready to know the answer to.

Before I lose the courage, I force myself to ask, “What can you tell me about the Legion?”

Walker shoves pie into his mouth, his gold eyes looking straight through me. “That was a long time ago.”

Eli shifts beside me. “How long?”

We both watch as Walker’s fingers start twitching again. I pull the pack of cigarettes from my back pocket and slide them across the table.

He snatches one, lights it, and visibly relaxes the moment it hits his lips.

“Eighteen years ago,” he says, the sound rough with smoke and memory. “They made contact. We didn’t know who they were, but they offered us tech. Advanced stuff. And because we’re human—fucking human—we took it.”

I want to ask who they are. But I think I already know.

“They created a team,” he continues. “The Legion. A group tasked with negotiating for their tech, their knowledge. Led by some big shot out of Washington.”

I suck in a breath. “How do you know all this?”

“I was on that team,” he exhales, then takes another drag. “Do you own a tin foil hat?” His eyes bulge. “Well, do you?”

Eli answers before I can. “We don’t.”

“You should,” Walker whispers. “They can get in your brain. Eat it from the inside out.”

I glance at Eli, questioning everything. Is this guy a credible source, or a disgraced vet who’s spent too much time reading message boards in the dark?

Why would Lark send me here?

“Is the Legion still active?” Eli asks.

Walker clicks his tongue. “Yeah. Last I heard, they meet once a month in the underground bunker. They wear the hats now. The foil ones. Because they know.”

“What do they know?” I ask.

Walker shakes his head and takes another bite of pie just as the faint ding of the diner door splinters through the air.

“You know what they know,” Walker snaps suddenly, eyes darting.

Eli shifts again. His shoulder slides in front of mine as his hand—still tangled with mine—tightens protectively.

“Thanks for the intel, Walker,” Eli says. “We won’t take up any more of your time.”

But then Walker moves.

Fast.

Too fast.

He whips out a gun, barrel pointed at me, then lifted just over my head. “What are you doing here?” he growls at whoever just walked in.

Eli drops my hand and turns, fully shielding me with his body. Something in my chest clenches, but I don’t have time to examine it.

“Put the weapon down, Walker,” the voice, calm and firm, says. “We got a report that you stole that firearm.”

“Let me finish my damn pie,” Walker groans. “You can haul me in after.”

“As long as that gun’s pointed at me,” the voice says coolly, “mine’s staying pointed at you.”