“Alright, tiny warlords,” I say after round three. “You win, you get stickers. You lose? You sharpen pencils.”
They cheer like I’ve offered gold bars.
Ben flashes me a look. Mischief. Something deeper. He’s testing me. Just like his mother used to.
My gut tightens.
But I don’t let it show.
Not yet.
CHAPTER 5
KAIRO
There’s something about the smell of over-sanitized linoleum and desperation that hits you the second you walk into Haven-7 Community Academy. The kind of scent that clings to the back of your throat and makes you second-guess all your life decisions. I clutch my bag tighter and stride past the front desk, smiling politely at the receptionist who’s too busy looking overwhelmed to care.
It’s too early for this.
The emergency ping came right as I was shoving Ben into his cleanest uniform and bribing him with a chocolate protein bar to wear socks that matched. Again. Another substitute teacher walked out. That makes five in four weeks. Apparently, one of them cried. Another joined a cult. One just ghosted mid-recess.
I follow the sound of raised voices down the corridor to the admin wing. Principal Jennings’ door is open, and chaos is leaking out into the hall like steam from a ruptured pipe.
"I don't care if he's got a degree from a moonbase monastery,” she snaps, pacing in her socks—heels discarded by her desk. “If he can count to ten and doesn’t faint when a five-year-old throws glitter at him, he’shired.”
A younger woman—maybe a guidance counselor or a deeply underpaid intern—winces. “But ma’am, we should still run a background?—”
“Fine! Run it. But onlyafterhe survives three hours in that class.”
I clear my throat. “You wanted to see me?”
Jennings spins toward me with wild eyes and a lopsided bun. “Jones! Thankevery known deity. Please tell me you know a miracle worker. Or know how to clone yourself.”
“I mean, if I had a clone, I’d send her on dates with Maliek so I don’t have to suffer through his ten-minute wine notes,” I mutter, stepping inside. “But no. I’m fresh out of genetic backups.”
She laughs. A little too hard. The kind of laugh that borders on a sob.
“We’re barely keeping heads above water here,” she says. “Half the kids in that room think nap time is a threat. We needsomeoneconsistent. Someone who can command attention. Who understands children.”
“You need a mob enforcer,” I say without thinking.
And then I laugh. Until I realize I’m not joking.
Jennings opens her mouth to reply, but her gaze suddenly lifts over my shoulder. Her whole face changes—like someone flipped a switch fromburnt out administratortowide-eyed hope junkie.
“Oh. My. Stars.”
I turn.
And my world flips.
There, at the front desk, filling the tiny waiting room like he owns the atmosphere, stands Jav Kuraken.
In asuit.
Three-piece. Tailored. Midnight blue with black trim. His scales gleam like molten rubies under the sterile schoolfluorescents. His horns are polished. His grin? That crooked, lazy sin of a smile I used to feel in places that still ache when I think about him.
My breath leaves me in a slow, shocked exhale.
