I trail off.
Garkin watches me for a beat, then exhales.
“You’re serious.”
“I always am.”
“Boss…”
I turn to him. “What.”
He lifts both hands. “Nothin’. Just…” He looks me over. “You’ve been out of the world five years. She could be with someone. Might’ve told that kid someone else is dad. You go storming in, claws bared, it could get messy.”
I tilt my head. “You worried I’ll mess up?”
“I’m worried you’llcare.”
I smile then. Full teeth. No menace.
“I already do.”
CHAPTER 3
KAIRO
Ben is standing on a chair in his pajamas, holding two purple dice like he's about to decide the fate of the universe.
“If I roll a double,” he says solemnly, “I get extra jam on my toast.”
I glance up from the stovetop. “The deal was, if you eat the toastwithoutusing it as a canvas for your economic theories, you get a juice box.”
“But Mom,” he argues, hopping down, “you said probabilities help us make better choices! I’mapplying concepts.”
“Not before breakfast,” I mutter, flipping the toast and checking the eggs.
Ben’s bright, too bright sometimes. Five going on quantum mathematician. And hungry. Always hungry. Which is why I’m making his breakfast before mine, like every morning, and trying not to trip over the stuffed crustacean he left in the middle of the floor.
Maliek enters the kitchen like he’s gliding into a business meeting—crisp shirt, neutral palette, hair too perfect for someone who lives with a child. He takes one look at thecluttered table—juice caps, crayons, a half-assembled model of an interstellar cruiser—and clears his throat.
“Kairo, I thought we agreed to rotate morning cleanup.”
“Did we?” I ask, not looking up. “I must’ve missed that memo.”
He walks over to Ben, who’s now sorting his breakfast into rows. “Ben, let’s not make a mess this morning, okay, champ?”
Ben blinks at him. “This is called organized chaos. You just don’t get it.”
Maliek frowns. “Maybe we should cut back on the open learning time. He's... over-stimulated.”
“He’s almost five, not a malfunctioning robot,” I mutter, setting the plate in front of Ben. “Eat, sweetheart.”
“Can I roll for how many bites I take?”
“No.”
Ben sighs dramatically and starts munching, one eye on his dice. I pour myself a mug of caf and pretend not to watch Maliek hover like he’s supervising a toddler’s tribunal. He means well. He really does. But his attempts to connect with Ben always land just left of awkward.
And the elephant in the room—the one we never talk about—is that he’s not Ben’s father.
