I lean against the counter, arms crossed. “You’re spoiling her.”
“Yes,” Tugun says calmly. “That is the point of godparenthood.”
He sets Roxy down and hands her a small bag.
Sable will kill him.
Roxy opens it.
Glitter explodes.
Everywhere.
Gold. Red. Iridescent flecks that catch the light and immediately adhere to every surface like a hostile takeover.
I stare at Tugun.
He spreads his hands. “Biodegradable.”
Roxy squeals and starts tossing it in the air like it’s holy confetti.
“I am going to vacuum this until I die,” I mutter.
Tugun smiles beatifically. “I’ll send you a new vacuum.”
“Make it two.”
We sit. We talk. He shows me spreads from NovaVogue. I pretend not to be impressed. I am deeply impressed.
Roxy falls asleep halfway through, curled on his lap, glitter-dusted and drooling.
He looks down at her with something dangerously close to reverence.
“She’s magnificent,” he says softly.
“She is,” I agree.
Outside, Novaria hums.
Quiet—for now.
I watch the city through the window, my daughter breathing warm and steady, the ghost of war finally distant enough to feel like memory instead of threat.
I am retired.
Technically.
The minigun stays under the bed.
Just in case.
Some habits don’t break.
Some things you protect forever.
Even if it means you have to suffer certain indignities…like what transpires the next day.
I sit on a kitchen stool while my life makes very questionable choices around me.
