Ella glances up, smiles. “Morning, lizard.” She sets the tome aside.
I come around and press a kiss to her temple. “Morning, fire.”
Vex’s voice squeaks, “Papa, watch this!”
He launches a spoonful of oats with telekinetic precision. I catch him mid-air before he makes a mess. He giggles, oats tumbling, and I lift him onto my shoulders.
“Hey, troublemaker,” I whisper.
Outside, I hear the soft thud of footsteps. Local kids—refugees mostly, human and hybrid alike—have drifted into the clearing. They giggle and wave. Vex spots them and shouts excitedly, “Friends!”
I carry him out the door. The kids dither at first, then rush forward. They surround us, touching the scales on his forearm—the flicker he sometimes lets show.
Here, no one bats an eye. They’ve seen too much to care about what you are. They care about who you protect.
I set Vex down. He races off into the meadow.
Ella follows, and I walk behind, hand in hers. Our cabin fades behind us, but I don’t look back. I look at what’s before me.
We stroll into the small town at midday. Dirt streets, wooden storefronts. No one stares. Women carry baskets; children squat by wells.
Ella leans in, voice a murmur. “This was worth it.”
I nod. “Every scar, every loss, every battle. Worth it for this moment.”
Evening falls slowly. The forest basin turns silver under moonlight.
Ella and I sit on the porch of the cabin. She leans into me, head resting on my shoulder. I wrap an arm around her waist.
She looks at me and murmurs, “You ever think about the future?”
I smile. “Every damn day.”
Her fingers stroke my chin. “Promise me something?”
I nod. “Anything.”
She says, “That you’ll never stop holding me.”
I pull her closer. “I won’t. Not as long as I breathe.”
I nuzzle her hair. In the silent dusk, with Vex asleep under a blanket between our knees, I vow to her and to him: as long as I live, no force in the galaxy will take us from each other again.
CHAPTER 48
ELLA
There are mornings when I wake and my body still stiffens—waiting.
Waiting for the other boot to drop. A drone rising over the tree line. A priestess’s scarred face at the door.
But they never come.
Life here is quieter than any world I’ve ever known. The war moved on without us. The galaxy churns in its intrigues, and this small patch of forest, this cabin, this life... it’s as if we slipped through the cracks.
And I thank the stars for that.
I begin my day like I did yesterday. Sunlight filters through pine needles. In the kitchen, the air is cool. I open windows to let in forest smells. I hum a tune I used to know from home—something simple, soft.
