Not just today.
I’m going to make her want to stay.
CHAPTER 3
KRISTI
I’m not lost.
I tell myself that even as I stand beneath the same flickering streetlight outside that same glowing doorway, arms stiff at my sides, heart doing that anxious little lurch it hasn’t done since I was a teenager. I tell myself this is just a convenient stop on the way home. A fluke. Coincidence. Efficiency, even. Just smart routing on a wet night with tired feet and a hungry gut.
But I know better.
It’s been circling in my head since last night—that look he gave me. The Vakutan. Kenron. Like I wasn’t something to dissect. Like he wasn’t waiting to catch me saying something wrong. There wasn’t pity in his eyes. No contempt either. Just… interest. And that’s what I can’t shake.
He didn’t flinch when I looked at him like he was a disease.
He didn’t lower his voice or avert his gaze or apologize for existing. He looked at me like I was a puzzle he was halfway through solving. And he didn’t hate me for being jagged.
That shouldn’t matter. But here I am again.
I don’t hesitate this time. I step through the door like it’s mine to open, and I brace myself—for the prickling discomfortin my skin, the buzz of confrontation, the eyes I know will snap toward the lone human woman walking into an alien-owned business on a crowded night. I’m ready for the suspicion. The scrutiny.
But it doesn’t come.
What greets me instead is warmth. Familiarity.
The air is thick with the scent of smoked meat and searing spices. Fireroot oil, charred bone, crushed citrus rind and something richer—roasted marrow maybe, or dark fermented pepper mash. It wraps around me like a cloak, sinks into my clothes, my skin, and for a breath I forget how much I hated this place just twenty-four hours ago.
The restaurant is loud. Laughing-loud. Full.
Every table’s taken except the one in the corner. My corner, apparently. I don’t recognize anyone here except for one Drevia server—same one as yesterday—and she gives me a short nod like I’m expected. Maybe even welcome.
The crowd is mixed. Human workers in high-visibility work vests sharing thick bowls of something red and steaming with blue-skinned contractors in dock-league uniforms. A tall, thin Fratvoyan couple feed each other with delicate two-pronged sticks while a stocky human woman coos over her baby strapped to her chest. A group of teenagers—three human, two Vakutan, one Sereen—laugh so hard at one end of a communal table that I feel it in my chest.
And nobody stops laughing when I enter.
No one goes quiet.
No one looks at me like I don’t belong.
It’s… unsettling.
I slip into the same booth as yesterday, my arms folded tightly across my chest like a makeshift armor. I keep my spine straight, eyes forward, hands in plain sight. Military posture, except I’ve never been military.
I’m not relaxing. No matter what it looks like.
Even if the seat feels familiar under my thighs, even if the hum of conversation doesn’t grate as much tonight. Even if part of me thinks about the way he smiled when he saw me last night and wonders if he’ll look at me like that again.
That thought is dangerous.
I shouldn’t be thinking about the way he looks at all.
But there’s a reason I’m here. And it’s not just the food. It’s not just convenience. And it's not just that warm, open heat that spilled out from the kitchen and laced itself into my bloodstream before I even sat down.
It’s him.
And I’m not ready to admit that. Not yet.
