Vex squeaks, frightened, and pressing closer. I spin, trying to track the blur. But it’s gone.
I stand, breath stuttering, head swimming. People glance. Some stare. A kid tugs his mother’s sleeve. “What’s wrong?” she whispers.
I whisper back, “He was here.”
We stumble home. My hands shake. The city hums outside the window — hovercars swooshing, distant alarms, the salt tang of night air. Vex falls asleep before we reach his bedroom. He doesn’t cry. Never does.
I tuck him in, pressing a kiss to his hair.
Then I pace.
I go to the window and stare. My eyes burn red. I whisper what I saw into the night. “You’re alive. He’s alive.”
I hear Dad’s door creak, footsteps. He enters quietly.
“You okay?” he says, and it’s gentle, cautious.
“I saw him,” I hiss.
“You saw who?”
“Takhiss.”
Dad’s face tightens. He crosses the room. He peeks at Vex. Nods.
“He was there?” he asks.
“I don’t know. One second he’s there. The next, gone.”
Dad shakes his head. “You shut yourself in that sky every night. Doesn’t mean he’s walking through it.”
I stare at him, chest hollow. “You don’t know him.”
He nods again. “I don’t. But I know you. And I’ll help.”
He reaches for my hand. I flinch.
“No,” I whisper. “I have to do this alone.”
That night, I dream.
He is walking toward me through corridors of ruins. Sparks rain. The smell of ozone, burning wiring. I reach. He stops. Lips parted. Eyes full of longing and guilt. He utters my name,Ella, soft, like it costs him.
I try to stop him from disappearing. My hands catch nothing. I fall.
I wake in a sweat, the room thick, the silence loud. Vex’s cradle hums.
I slip out of bed and go to his door.
When I enter, he’s awake, staring at me. His small face glows in the red night-light.
“Mommy?” he whispers.
I drop to my knees and take him in my arms.
I whisper over and over, “I’ll find him. I promise you, I will.”
He presses his cheek into mine. Breathing soft.
