Page 92 of Aviatrix

“Is Major Eli Kopelman ready?” she retorts, her tone bordering on a smirk. “Fingertip formation in Stealth Mode is my specialty.”

“Did you overhear our conversation?” I ask.

“The CogniSync grants me access to your thoughts relating to flight missions, classified operations, and special features such as Stealth Mode,” VAL replies without hesitation.

“Oh,” I say, feeling exposed. “Didn’t realize that. Just… flight thoughts?”

“Only thoughts directly tied to navigation, defense, or Stealth Mode,” VAL replies. A beat. Then, she adds, “I am not programmed to care about your unresolved feelings for Major Kopelman.”

I roll my eyes. “Sure you’re not.”

“Are you prepared to show the Major what we are capable of?”

I grin. “I’ve never been more ready.”

My fingers flex around the stick. My pulse beats a little faster. This is the part I still love—the moment before takeoff.

The hangar doors are already wide open, and the moment I think about taking off, VAL launches us out of the steel structure and into the sky.

We stabilize, and I glance over to see Eli flying right beside us.

“Are you ready, VAL?”

“Ready,” she confirms.

I switch on the mic. “Phantom, this is Nova. Do you copy?”

“Copy,” he replies immediately. “You ready?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Are you?”

Eli flies even closer, the wing of his jet nearly brushing VAL’s.

“Initiate Stealth Mode,” I instruct.

“Initializing Stealth Mode,” VAL responds.

“Did it work?” Eli asks. “I can still see you and VAL.”

“Affirmative,” VAL answers. “Undetectable by radar. Visible to all friendly aircraft under Stealth Mode.”

Huh. Well, that was easy.

We fly like that for the next forty-eight minutes, Eli so close, one gust of wind could send him crashing into us.

Then, we're one minute out from Camp Obsidian and Eli radios the control tower as VAL lifts Stealth Mode.

“Base Obsidian, this is Phantom. Requesting landing instructions for two aircraft.”

There’s a burst of static before a distinct voice filters through.

“Phantom, Nova, use the northeast runway for landing,” Lark says.

Eli doesn’t respond. But I do hear him groan.

We both land, VAL and I touching down first, Eli right behind.

The runway juts straight into the mountainside, a yawning mouth carved from dark stone. Camp Obsidian’s hangar is half man-made, half raw earth, steel beams embedded into jagged limestone, floodlights casting long shadows over polished concrete. It smells like fuel, dust, and the kind of classified missions that never make a report.