Silence — then a patter of fast little feet on plastitile. “Mama!”
She barrels around the corner at full speed, bare feet skidding, curls bouncing like wildfire.
And I melt.
“Whoa, slow down—” I laugh as she collides into my legs. Her arms wrap tight, claws snagging just slightly on my coat. She’s getting stronger. Again.
“I drew yousomething,” she declares, already dragging me toward the main room. “It’s got ships and plasma claws and a big explosion!”
“Plasma claws?” I echo, eyebrows up. “Sounds intense.”
“Itwas! In my brain!” She beams up at me, cheeks flushed. Her little canines flash when she grins. They’re too sharp for afull-human child. I file that worry into the usual drawer — the one markedThings I Can’t Fix.
She pulls me down to the floor beside her makeshift art station — just a cracked table and a pile of synthpaper, but to her it’s the whole damn universe.
She shoves a drawing into my lap. It’s chaos — jagged lines, smudged colors, fire and stars and a figure that’s unmistakably Vakutan: broad shoulders, glowing eyes, claws bared. Beside him, a smaller figure with wild curls and fangs and a tail she doesn’t have — not yet.
I stare at it a long time.
“You gave yourself a tail,” I say.
“Yeah! For balance.” She shrugs like it’s obvious. “You said I’ll probably get one.”
“I saidmaybe.” My throat’s tight.
She points to the big figure. “That’s the protector. He guards her.”
“Is she in danger?”
“Always.” Her voice is matter-of-fact.
My heart seizes.
Nessa doesn’tknow. Not really. She’s only five. She doesn’t understand bloodlines or bounty codes or why her skin itches when she’s upset. She doesn’t know that her claws are growing faster now, or that I have to shave back the tiny nubs at the base of her skull every few weeks so no one sees the plates coming in.
But shefeelsit. She feels it in her bones.
“Do you… do you dream about him?” I ask gently.
She nods. “Sometimes. He’s got light in his hands and fire on his back. He roars like a mountain.”
I close my eyes. Vael never had fire on his back — but hewasa mountain.
I smooth a hand over her hair, warm and soft and just a little too wild. “That’s a powerful protector.”
“Yeah.” She nestles into my side. “You smell like hospital stuff. Did you see sick people?”
“Mmhmm.”
She frowns. “Anyone scary?”
I hesitate.
Lie, or protect?
“Just a soldier,” I say. “He got hurt. He’s healing now.”
Her head tilts. She has my eyes, but Vael’s brow — that furrow of focus that says she’s about to ask something too sharp for her age.
