CHAPTER 1
KAIRO
Maravel Station, Holocafé BetaSix
The stim-tea’s bitter. Too bitter. I swirl it with my spoon anyway, as if coaxing sweetness from liquid bitterness is a metaphor for my whole damn life. I lift the mug, watch the blueish steam curl like dancing smoke snakes over the rim, and try to pretend I don’t notice the gaggle of university kids whispering in the corner.
They're not subtle. They never are.
“Is that?—?”
“I think so. Kairo Jones, right?”
“TheCrimson Affairwoman?”
“She’s shorter in person.”
I close my eyes, exhale through my nose, and take a slow sip. My stim-tea’s cooled just enough to be tolerable, but it still tastes like boiled regret. I tap through the headlines on my compad. More war rumors in the Varn quadrant. A new holo-drama about the Sarrik Empire. One piece on the ethics of narrative journalism, featuring a quote from my old editor atThe Haven-7 Beacon.
Great.
My name’s not in that headline, but it doesn’t have to be. Everyone who’s readThe Crimson Affairknows who “Kaelena” is. Knows that the violet-eyed alien mobster “Jaxan Korr” was based on someone real. And I’ve signed enough books for smirking readers with conspiratorial winks to know they think I lived it. They’re right. Just not all of it. The wild parts? Sure. The love affair? Gods, yes.
The secret baby I kept hidden from an imprisoned crime prince while turning our doomed romance into a galaxy-wide phenomenon?
Yeah, that part’s not in the books.
Another ping chirps on my compad—louder than necessary, as if the universe wants to see me twitch in public. I flick my eyes down.
From: Ben’s School → Reminder: Substitute teacher assignment failed. Temporary coverage required.
I groan aloud.
Another one?
That’s the third this month. What are they doing to these poor subs, flinging them into a classroom of five-year-olds like raw meat into a den of fang-lions?
I rub my temples. My son’s school means well, truly. But the turnover rate in his class is ridiculous. Ben’s a good kid. Smart, charming, full of unholy energy. And maybe, just maybe, alittlebit intense in the way only a half-grolgath child could be. Not that anyone outside my closest circle knows that.
“Excuse me,” a voice says, a bit too brightly, a bit too rehearsed. “Are you… Kairo Jones?”
I look up slowly, offering my most neutral smile. She’s maybe nineteen, with violet hair and a glitter filter on her cheeks. A student, most likely. She’s holding her holo-pad like it’s a sacred scroll.
“I am.”
“I just… I love your books. Especially book two—when Kaelena almost assassinates the diplomat to save Jaxan. That was…oof. Fire.” She fans herself with two fingers. “Did you base that on a real mission?”
“I’m afraid I can’t comment on the inspiration behind specific plot points,” I say smoothly, finishing my tea in a gulp. “But thank you for reading.”
“Can I get a pic?”
I pause for just a breath. Then nod. She leans in, flashes a peace sign, and clicks the shot before I’ve even centered my face.
“Thanks!” she beams. “I want to write too someday. But like, my life’s notthatinteresting, you know?”
I give her a smile that’s more tired than kind. “Neither was mine, until it was.”
She hurries back to her table. They start giggling again, louder now, emboldened by proximity. I consider ordering another tea—or maybe a double shot of something stronger—but instead, I stand, sling my bag over one shoulder, and stride out of the café before I hear the wordsmob loverorbaby daddymuttered behind my back.
