The kids trickle in minutes later, yawning and sticky-eyed, clutching half-eaten breakfast bars and plushies that look like they’ve been through war. Ben walks in last, dragging his feet a little.
He looks up when he sees me.
Stops.
Then breaks into a smile so bright it punches the air out of my lungs.
“Mr. K!” he yells, running over like I’m his whole damn galaxy.
I catch him. Just for a second. Just long enough to steady him.
His arms are thin around my waist. His warmth hits my chest like a mercy I don’t deserve.
“Hey, little boss,” I say, voice rough.
“You weren’t here yesterday,” he says, pulling back to look at me with narrowed, suspicious eyes.
“Had to do some… big kid errands.”
“Did they involve dragons?”
I pause. “Something like that.”
He grins and runs to his seat.
I stare after him, my throat thick.
I don’t know if Kairo told him anything. I don’t know if she ever will.
But this—this right here—it’s the reason I’m still pretending I can be both man and monster.
I wipe my hands on my coat and face the class.
Time to dance.
“Alright, warlords,” I say, pulling the windowshade down and turning off the overhead lights. “Today, we’re gonna learn about shadows.”
They groan, assuming I mean metaphorical ones—probably more lectures, more math.
But then I pull a set of fusion tubes from my bag, the kind we used to rig for night raids on asteroid colonies. Garkin thought I was nuts salvaging them.
I twist the dials, and soft beams of violet and blue spill across the walls like melted stars.
The kids gasp.
Ben’s eyes go wide.
I lift both hands, claws poised, and make the shape of a grolgathian bird—a wide-winged predator with a hooked beak and clawed talons. Its silhouette moves across the wall like it’s real.
The kids lose their minds.
“Whoa!”
“Is that a blood hawk?”
“I saw that in a vid once!”
I move through shapes fast—space whales, flame foxes, even a poor attempt at a human face that makes them scream with laughter. I let them come up, one by one, to try.
