I look away.
I pour myself a cup of caf just to have something to do with my hands, but it’s shaking. Just slightly. Just enough to betray me.
“Jav,” I say, finally turning around. “Last night…”
He sets his food down, slow.
“I shouldn’t have—” I take a breath. “It was a mistake.”
Ben looks up. “What was?”
Jav doesn’t flinch. He meets my eyes.
I hate how steady he looks. Howstillhe is, like he’s known this conversation was coming from the second we kissed.
“You don’t believe that,” he says.
“Ihaveto,” I bite back. “Because I have a kid to raise. I have a life to protect. I can’t… I can’t invite danger into it because itfeels good in the moment.”
Ben’s ears twitch slightly—he’s listening. Or pretending not to. He picks at his wrap, glancing between us.
“Danger?” Jav repeats softly. “Is that what I am to you?”
“You’re a criminal.”
“Was.”
“You’rewantedon half a dozen systems?—”
“Not anymore.”
“You kill people.”
He doesn’t answer that.
Silence stretches. Heavy. Sharp.
Ben suddenly jumps up and bolts toward his room, muttering something about coloring. The door slides shut behind him with a soft whirr.
I exhale shakily.
Jav stands. Steps close. Close enough that I can feel the heat rolling off his skin, the way the air bends around him like it knows his shape.
“You’re scared,” he says.
“No,” I lie.
“Then why are you shaking?”
I slam the caf mug down. Some of it sloshes over the edge and burns my fingers.
“I amnotgoing to let my son get caught in the crossfire of some fantasy I built in my head when I was too young and too lonely to know better.”
Jav’s face is unreadable.
I see the hurt, though. It’s not loud. It’s in the tightness around his mouth. The way his tail stiffens just a little. The way his shoulders stay squared, but his eyes—those damn eyes—they darken like stormglass.
“I’m not a fantasy, Kairo.”
