“Morning,” I say.
He nods, voice soft: “Good morning.”
He offers me the recon drone he’s been tuning. The casing is dented; I see his scratch on the side. He holds it out to me. “Your turn.”
I take it. My fingers tingle from the touch. We tinker side by side in silence. No pressure. No demands.
When Vex stirs upstairs, he excuses himself with a gentle, “I’ll get him.” He disappears up the stairs. I hear his footsteps,soft creaks, Vex’s cough. He comes back in seconds, baby clasped in his arms, swaddled. Vex half yawns, blinking.
Takhiss sets him in my lap. The warmth, the weight of small bones. I cradle him close. He reaches for my cheek. We look across the room at Takhiss, at each other. Wordless.
Later, Dad’s yard is busy. Cab tires spin, engines hiss, kids shout. Marla shows up, arms folded, eyebrows raised, watching us — me, Takhiss, Vex. She’s always been blunt, rarely diplomatic.
“You two look like a family,” she says, voice loud over the yard’s noise. “Is that what this is?”
I freeze, wrench in hand. I glance at Takhiss. He’s kneeling at a grav plate, adjusting wires. He doesn’t look up immediately.
I swallow. “I hope so.” I don’t — I’m not sure yet.
Marla steps close. “Or a disaster waiting to happen.”
Her words cut. She means the truths I hide. The half-lies I still live. The secret I haven’t spoken.
Takhiss straightens, hands dusted in metal grains. He speaks gently. “We’re trying.”
Marla raises an eyebrow. “Trying how long?”
He doesn’t flinch. “As long as it takes.”
She watches us. Her arms cross. She nods. Then she walks away, shaking her head like she’s making peace with a storm.
That hit lingers under my skin.
That night, the electricity flickers. The workshop’s ambient hum warps. We share dinner, Dad’s stew, crusted bread, stale green stuff. Takhiss sits at the low table while I sit in a metal chair. My hands tremble when I pour his water.
We talk. He asks me about the day’s repairs — cab hull flexing, coolant filters, wiring loads. I correct a flaw he missed. He catches it with a laugh, reaches across, brushes my shoulder. My skin sparks.
He doesn’t demand truth. He doesn’t ask about Vex’s origin.
But I see the shadows cross his eyes whenever I shift, whenever Vex stirs, whenever I dodge a question. He’s piecing fragments. I dread the day he fits them together.
After dinner, he carries Vex upstairs. I trail. He tucks him in. Vex murmurs. He holds him close. Then Takhiss turns.
I lean against the doorframe.
He moves closer. His presence fills the narrow hall. We stand inches apart.
“Ella…” he says.
I look at him. There’s worry in his eyes, sorrow. He touches my cheek — gentle, trembling.
“Every day,” he murmurs, “I choose you.”
I blink. The truth, etched heavy on my tongue, fights back.
I don’t speak it.
I lean in, press a kiss to his lips. It’s soft, careful. It’s promise.
