“Why?”
“Because it’s not justmysecret anymore.”
And there it is.
I freeze. Something shifts. Heavy. Immense.
Not just her secret.
“What does that mean?” I whisper.
She shakes her head, eyes shimmering. “Don’t push me, Vael. Please.”
I take another step back. My mouth tastes like copper.
“You’re a better liar when you’re not crying,” I mutter, barely loud enough for her to hear.
She gasps.
And I leave.
Because if I stay, I’ll do something stupid. Again. Like kiss her back. Or beg.
Or worse — tell her that I’d forgive her for anything.
CHAPTER 9
RYNN
My comm chirps just after midday, sharp and clinical.
I see the name before the tone finishes sounding.
Instructor Delma - Little Sprockets Early Academy.
My stomach drops.
No one's supposed to call during clinic hours unless it's urgent. Nessa knows how to behave. Sheknows. I drilled it into her — no screaming, no climbing too high, no running when you’re upset.
The comm screen buzzes again. A soft, insistent pulse. I answer.
“Dr. Sorala,” Delma says, voice as tight as her iron-stiff braids. “There’s been an incident.”
Fifteen minutes later, I’m sitting in a too-small chair, knees practically at my chest, in the back office of the preschool wing. The pastel walls mock me with their cheerful murals of cartoon animals. A giant smiling asteroid gives me a thumbs-up from the corner.
Delma’s face is stony. She taps her compad, and the playback begins.
Nessa sits on the floor in a circle of other toddlers, holding her favorite purple-glow raptor. Her scales shimmer faintly under the indoor lights — subtle enough to pass, at least when she’s calm.
The moment unfolds slowly.
A human boy—Julen, I think his name is—reaches for the raptor, yanks it out of her hands.
Nessa’s mouth opens. She doesn’t scream. Doesn’t cry.
Sheroars.
It’s not a sound a child her age should make. Low, guttural, from the chest like something ancient.
