The courtyard is buzzing like a hive gone haywire in the best possible way. String lights zig-zag overhead, catching on the alien bounce-pits we rented for the “You Survived Kindergarten” party. The bounce pits glow neon blue and green, their surfaces shimmering in the dusk light, like liquid starlight. Kids are screaming and flying, the rubber walls absorbing shock and joy in equal measure. I lean back against the wall of the orphanage building, coat draped over my shoulders, drinking it in.
My eyes find Kairo almost immediately. She’s laughing, head thrown back, hair catching fire-light from the portable torches. She has markers in her hand—glitter paint from the craft table—and a smear of gold on her cheek. Her mouth opens wide in a laugh that’s pure and delighted. It hits me like something I didn’t know I needed.
Ben is the stupid grin center of it all. He’s in the bounce-pit now, arms in the air, shirt pulled up slightly, showing the pendant I gave him. The Redscale crest — the old symbol — repurposed so every sharp edge has been softened. Instead of a crest of claws it’s a symbol of home now. I gave it to him earlier.I watched the moment he accepted it: One small hand closing around metal cool and solid, the other hand squeezing mine. “You don’t have to wear it,” I said. (Because letting him decide felt important.) He looked up at me, steady. “But I want to.” He said. “Because you’re my dad.”
That quiet moment is still echoing in my bones.
Tonight,the fire dancers arrive. Grolgath-trained performers who swirl ribbons of flame around their arms, hula-hoops of red fire, boots crackling on the gravel. The air thickens with scent—smoke and sweet spice from the torches, the bounce-pit air smelling like warmed rubber and adrenaline. I catch a whiff of the night outside the courtyard: wet pavement from earlier rain, ozone from the torches, a faint undercurrent of engine hum from the city just beyond the wall.
Kairo watches the dancers too. I walk over and hand her a drink—some cheap sweet synth-wine mixed with berry spritz. She clinks her cup with mine. “You pulled this off,” she murmurs. “It’s insane.”
“Insane happy,” I correct. She laughs again. That laugh is part of the reason I’m here.
We lean into each other. I feel her arm brush mine. For a second, the party noise dims. Not because the sound escapes us—but because I’m not trying to hear it. I’m just trying tofeelit.
“Look at him,” Kairo whispers. “Our tornado of a kid.”
I follow her glance. Ben flips off a trampoline and lands in the arms of one of the older mentors. He beams. The pendant catches the torch-light and flashes. Just for a moment. Then quiet like it belongs.
“Yeah,” I say. “Looks like he’s got the right team.”
She turns to me, eyebrows raised. “Team we?”
I shrug. “Team we.”
She rolls her eyes but smiles. She leans her head on my shoulder. I let her. I don’t move. Just sit there at the edge of the beat of the party, not in the middle, but close enough.
Later,after the fireworks go off (tiny ones, safe ones, yet still loud enough to make the kids squeal), we move to the fringe of the gathering. The floor of the courtyard has been cleared and a portable speaker blasts a remix of alien jazz and human pop. Kids are dancing, older mentors are clapping. The air pulses with music and laughter and something warm?— a kind of relief.
I pull Kairo to the middle of the dance floor. She protests with her eyes but smiles and lets me. I take her hand. Her fingers are cool in mine. I twirl her once. She giggles.
“You know,” I say, voice low so only she can hear, “I used to win wars by hitting first. Now I win by holding hands.”
She stops dancing for a second and looks up at me. “That’s new.”
“Good new,” I nod.
She presses her forehead to mine. “It’s real, isn’t it?”
“It feels like it,” I say. “And I plan to make it last.”
She whispers something, but I don’t catch it exactly. I just feel her breath on my skin, the way her hair smells like night rain and the candy-table I passed earlier—sweet, sticky, alive.
At the edgeof the courtyard, I pull something from my coat pocket—a small ring box.
My heart kicks in. I’m aware of every bump in the ground under my boots, the way the music thuds in the floorboards, the spark of torch flame by my feet. Kairo senses something changed. She stops dancing. She watches me carefully, head tilted, one brow raised.
I drop to one knee. The music doesn’t stop—but it becomes a backdrop. The noise behind us fades into a soft hum. The torch-flame glow wraps around us like a halo.
“Kairo,” I say. My voice catches. “I know we’ve built a lot of things. A home. A family. A future I never dared hope for. But there’s one thing I want to build together. Forever.”
I open the box. The ring inside is simple—silver with a small sapphire inset (Ben’s birthstone), etched with the motto of nothing left to prove. I look up at her.
“You don’t have to say yes now. Hell, you can tell me to shove it and go teach those kids again.” I chuckle, nervous. “But if you’ll let me—let us—then…”
Her eyes shine. “Jav…” she whispers.
The ring box feels warm in my hand.
