She’s curled tight into my side on the threadbare couch, her head tucked beneath my chin like she’s five months old instead of five years.
I run my fingers slowly through her curls, still damp from the fever sweat.
The storm outside batters Corven-7’s colony walls with rhythmic bursts of wind and dust, and the old windows hum with pressure.
Inside, the lights flicker again — third time in the last half hour.
I know it’s not the storm.
It’sher.
“I don’t feel good,” Nessa mumbles, voice thick with sleep.
“I know, baby.” I press a kiss to her hair, breathing in that sweet, familiar scent of cinnamon soap and something wild and metallic beneath — the part of her I can’t scrub away, no matter how much I want to. “Your stomach still hurts?”
She nods against my chest. Her skin is too warm. Not dangerously so, but high enough to make my pulse tick up. She’s growing faster. Changing faster.
And I can’t keep up.
“Want me to make some tea?” I ask.
“No,” she murmurs. “Just stay here.”
So I stay.
I stay, because right now, this is the only thing that makes sense.
I stay, because I don’t know how many more of these moments we’ll get before it all crumbles.
The room is dim except for the pale blue glow of the holo-screen — muted cartoons flickering like ghosts across the wall.
Nessa’s little hand is splayed across my ribs, claws just slightly extended.
They do that when she’s scared.
And right now… I know she’s scared.
I tighten my arm around her. Her body relaxes a little, the weight of her trust settling heavy against my side.
A few minutes pass in silence.
Then she whispers, “Mama?”
“Mm?”
She shifts just enough to look up at me. Her face is flushed, her golden irises glowing faintly in the low light — and gods, they’re brighter now. No doubt about it. No hiding that hue under the school’s weak eye-scanners much longer.
Her voice is so quiet I almost don’t hear her.
“Did my daddy ever love me?”
I stop breathing.
For one perfect second, the world just… stops.
The storm outside vanishes. The walls disappear. Even my own heartbeat goes silent.
Just that question.
