CHAPTER 54
KAIRO
The hum of my compad has become a lullaby. Not the kind that first kept me up nights, heart racing with fear. No, this is the kind that sings quiet when creation ends. When the worst is behind you and the only thing left is truth.
I finish the last chapter. The cursor blinks once—twice—and then I hit Save.
The paragraph glows a little longer than usual. A testament to every messy confession, every belly-laugh, every time I nearly lost my nerve. It’s raw. Vulnerable. Funny as hell. A memoir that’s part romance, part interstellar crime saga, part parenting disaster. Me chasing a man who wielded claws and codes and came home bearing cocoa pancakes. Me watching our son learn what belonging means.
I lean back. The chair creaks. My palm flat on the desk feels the faint ridges of coffee stains and dried ink where I spilled draft after draft.
I exhale. The air smells of fresh printouts and mint tea. My gaze travels past the laptop, across the room, to the living room.
There they are.
Jav, sound asleep, boots gone, coat thrown over the side of the couch. His scent hits me even from here: sandalwood,sweat, faint plasma residue from an old job. But it’s gentle now. Domestic. Normal.
And on his chest, Ben, cheeks flushed, lips parted in a kid-snore, arms half around his neck. The pendant Jav gave him glints faintly in the living room lamp’s glow—silver crest turned symbol of peace.
I should feel guilty for the mess—the leftovers still on the coffee table, the comics scattered. But I don’t. I feel something else.
Contentment.
I rise, careful not to creak the floorboards, and close the laptop. The click echoes like finality.
I walk across the soft carpet to the couch. I sit at the edge, the leather cushion dipping under my weight. I lean forward and gently brush a lock of Ben’s hair away from his forehead.
“I love you, kiddo,” I whisper.
Jav stirs. His eyes open slowly. The corners crinkle. He smiles—no big grin, just a small curve that lights his face.
“Finished?” he asks quietly, voice rough with sleep.
I nod. “Last chapter done.”
“Good,” he replies, reaching out to take my hand. His fingers are warm. Strong. Familiar. They no longer grip like they’re expecting a firefight—they wrap like they’re used to peace. “I’m proud of you.”
I breathe in. “You’re impossible.”
“And worth it,” he says.
I curl up beside them, letting the rhythm of their breathing lull me into the first dreamless sleep I’ve had in years.
When morning lightdusts the room in gray and gold, the rain has stopped, leaving the world outside scrubbed clean.
My ribs pulse faintly—a reminder of what I was—but the weight on my chest anchors me to what I am. Ben is shifting, waking up with the kind of boundless energy only a five-year-old possesses.
He sits up, hair sticking out in every direction, and blinks at Jav. Then, his eyes light up.
“Daddy! Storytime!” he shouts, shattering the morning quiet.
Jav groans softly, laughing as he rubs sleep from his eyes. “He doesn’t possess an indoor voice, does he?”
“Never,” I say, grinning.
Ben dives off the couch, scrambles to the bookcase, and returns with a worn paperback—The Crimson Affair. The cover’s battered, corners bent. He shoves it into Jav's hands.
“Alright,” Jav says, sitting up and flipping the cover open. The smell of old paper hits my nose—ink and dust and memory. He glances at Ben. “You know what we’re going to do?”
