“Will you marry me?” I say.
For a moment she doesn’t answer. Then she laughs. Quiet at first, then more. Her hand flies to her mouth. She drops her drink in surprise. Sparkle juice splashes on the gravel but who even cares.
“Yes,” she says. “God yes.”
The crowd doesn’t stop dancing. The fire dancers keep swirling logs of flame behind us. I slide the ring onto her finger. It’s snug, perfect.
She pulls me up. We hug hard. Fire glow flickers across her cheek. Her hair smells like the party, like victory.
I whisper, “You’re it. You’re always been it.”
She whispers back, “So are you.”
Later,the kids swarm us—“Mr. Kuraken and Miss Kairo are getting married!” they squeal. Ben runs up with his handmade plush in one hand, arms wide. “I told you he’d ask!” he shouts. I laugh so loud it surprises me.
Kairo picks up the plush and waves it. The kids crowd around. I stand back, watch her. My heart is full.
In that moment everything I fought for—whatever it was—feels worth it.
We’re dancing again. Kairo leans into me, I rest my chin on the top of her head. The torch flame splinters off the ring, lights up her finger in tiny twinkles.
I inhale her—smell of marshmallow volcanos, spilled wine, warmth, joy. I taste the sweat of dancing, the tang of night air, the sweetness of everything we’ve built.
I think of future mornings—Ben bounding down the stairs, me making pancakes, Kairo in the doorway smiling. No bullet holes, no threats, no shadows. Just us.
And promise.
CHAPTER 53
JAV
Weeks pass and this is finally the day. The morning is humming before I even open my eyes. The curtains are drawn back, sunlight dusting across the cot in thin gold lines, and the smell of coffee and sweetbread drifts up the hallway. It’s the kind of day you feel in your bones long before the first toast is raised—a day both ordinary and impossible.
I sit up slowly, the weight of my coat heavy on the chair beside me where I draped it last night. It’s still worn, frayed at the sleeves, the scars of many battles stitched into the leather. I glance at it and then at the ring on my finger, shining faint in the morning light. The wife-to-be is in the next room, I know it, and something fierce fires in my chest—pride, protection, and a kind of wonder I didn’t think a man like me would ever feel.
Downstairs the venue—really just the orphanage garden turned into something slightly more official—is alive. Lanterns swing overhead, the drone cords humming faintly, the bounce pits deflated now but still in place for later. Flower petals strewn across the grass, footlights flickering. The air smells like hot vinyl from the bounce pits, earth from the garden beds, and the faintest scorch of small pyrotechnics. Grolgath cousins aresetting up a small fire-ring in the corner. One of them tosses a spark into the air and laughs; someone yells “Fire hazard!” but no one means it in a bad way.
Children run around in mismatched outfits: one in a mismatched tux vest and cargo pants, another in a bee costume because the kid thought “groom” sounded like “broom” and that needed correction. Ben is rigged up in something noble: green tie, white shirt, suspenders, and the pendant I gave him shining under the hot morning sun. He rushes over when he sees me.
“Dad! Dad!” he yells, voice high with excitement. I kneel down and pull him in for a hug that knocks the air out of me. He giggles. “Ready for the big moment?”
I smile, ruffling his hair. “Couldn’t be more.”
I turnand see her then—Kairo. My heart nearly drops. She’s walking down the makeshift aisle, led by Principal Jennings. And Ben is leadingher. The principal’s robes are pastel blue; Jennings keeps clearing his throat and adjusting his glasses, but he’s smiling so hard you wonder if his face will crack.
The aisle is no more than a carpet runner from the old auditorium, but to me it’s a path straight to the one thing I fought for. I stand, boots slightly sunk in the grass of the garden. The grolgath fire-ring glows behind me. The air sharpens with expectation. I smell fresh grass, sweat and a hint of lavender from Kairo’s hair. Her smile says “Look at us,” and the world quiets, even as forks clatter and kids shush in the background.
Jennings clears his throat. “Dear family, friends, and everyone who accidentally ended up here because they thought lunch was over,” he starts, and a ripple of laughter runs through the crowd. I feel my lips pull into a grin. This is us. This is the real deal.
My vows are simple. Fewer words than a war speech, but every one holds weight. I take a breath. The summer air warms my chest. I smell her. I see the sun caught in her eyelashes.
“Kairo,” I say. “I promise to be loud when I’m proud. Gentle when you need it. And never boring again.”
I see her roll her eyes. I see the corners of her lips tug up. The smell of her perfume—something cedar and wildflower—fills me. My heart echoes in my ears.
She stands, then, and says: “You’re impossible.”
I laugh—soft and right. I step closer. “And yours.”
