He holds me afterward, arms firm around me. Outside, the city hums, unseen. Inside, the air tastes like fear and longing.
As I lie next to him in darkness, Vex asleep between us, I realize normal doesn’t come all at once. It creeps. It fractures and rebuilds. Every small touch, every shared glance, every whispered promise thickens the world we’re making.
But the clock is shadowed. Autrua’s words echo:Children need structure.The claim she may file. The legal war that looms.
I press my head into his chest in the dark. He wraps his arms tighter around me. His heartbeat is slow and steady. I vow to keep the lies buried only until we’re strong enough. That one day — when the truth emerges — we’ll survive it together.
And for the first time in a long time, the future feels more ours than haunted.
CHAPTER 32
TAKHISS
He looks like her.
When he stirs, yawns, and opens his eyes in the soft dawn light, I see the curve of her nose, the slope of his brow, the same stubborn set of lips. But then his eyes flick—they linger on me a moment too long, unblinking—and I see something else.
Something cautious. Observing. Learning.
That unsettles me more than any blade.
I’m repairing the grav-stabilizer in the workshop, hands dirty, sleeves rolled. Sweat beads on my brow. The motor hums low, wires glowing red around the coils. Vex toddles in, uneven steps, clutching a marbled toy. He pauses at the doorway, watching me.
A spark pops from the coil—bright, loud.
A human child would flinch. Cry.
Vex doesn’t.
His head snaps toward the sound, tracking the arc of the spark until it hits the floor. His eyes dilate. He doesn’t make a sound. He just catalogs the threat level and dismisses it.
I freeze.
Ella is behind me, quiet as a shadow. I turn. She’s watching him, then me.
I ask, voice low, “Has he always tracked movement like that?”
She crosses her arms, defensive. “Like what?”
“Like a predator,” I say softly. “Fast. Unflinching. He tracks targets like a spotter.”
She looks down at Vex. “He’s attentive. That’s all.”
“It’s dangerous,” I press. “If I can see it, others will too. A magistrate. An officer.”
She stares at me, silence hanging heavy. “Then we teach him,” she says finally. “We teach him to pass.”
I nod slowly. But inside, I wonder if you can teach a hawk to blink like a dove.
I go silent often now, working deeper into the night. Forges hiss, metal sighs. I fix broken hover cab rails, line new circuits. I memorize street routes, shortcut alleys, power nodes. I map every inch of this home so no one can approach us unseen.
I learn the lullabies Ella hums to Vex. I hum them to him when he stirs. I try to match her rhythm, her softness, the tick of her breathing in the dark. Sometimes he drifts in sleep, and I sing low to him—old Coalition ballads of the Flame Spires, but slowed down, stripped of their war drums until they sound like peace.
He doesn’t cry.
I memorize that too.
Days pass. Market noises, engine clatter, humid sky. At dinner,her fatherand Marla are at the table. Ella ladles stew. I sit on the floor again, knees braced, preferring the anchor of the concrete. Vex sits in her lap, softly chewing.
