My stomach turned over. The mug trembled in my hands, tea sloshing dangerously close to the rim.
"The back door was jimmied," Craig continued, his voice taking on that flat, professional tone cops used when delivering bad news. "Pry marks on what was left of the door frame. They knew what they were doing. Got in quiet, did their work, and got out before lighting it up."
Cristox stood behind me, one hand resting on the back of my chair. I could feel the tension radiating off him, coiled and dangerous like a spring wound too tight. His tail twitched once, sharply, betraying the anger he kept carefully controlled. "So Iwas right," he said, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down my spine.
"You were right," Craig confirmed, looking between us with something like pity in his eyes. "This was deliberate. This was arson. And given the timing..." He trailed off meaningfully.
I felt bile rise in my throat, hot and acidic. Someone had done this. Someone had walked into my bakeshop—my home, the place where I'd built my life from nothing, where Teddy slept upstairs in his little bed with the spaceship sheets—and deliberately tried to burn it all down. While we slept. While my baby slept.
"I'm going to be sick," I whispered.
I barely made it to the bathroom before my stomach emptied. I knelt on the cool tile, shaking, while the implications crashed over me in waves. This wasn't an accident. This wasn't faulty wiring or a forgotten burner. Someone wanted to hurt me. To kill me. To kill Teddy.
A warm hand gathered my hair back from my face. Cristox knelt beside me, saying nothing, just present and solid while I retched and trembled. His thumb traced soothing circles against my scalp, grounding me when I felt like I might fly apart.
When I finally sat back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, he handed me a damp washcloth without a word. The cloth was cool against my flushed skin, smelling faintly of lavender from Mei's garden.
"They tried to kill us," I said, voice hoarse and raw. "They tried to kill my baby."
"I know." His jaw was tight, eyes dark with barely contained fury. "But they didn't. You're both safe."
"Because of you." I looked at him—really looked at him—at the determined set of his shoulders, the protective way he angled his body toward mine even now. "If you hadn't been there..."
I couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't let myself think about what would have happened if Cristox hadn't heard the siren and come running. If he hadn't run into the flames without hesitation, hadn't carried our son out of that inferno while the building collapsed behind them.
The fear was bad enough. But underneath it, growing like poison through my chest, was something worse. The sickening knowledge that someone in this town, someone I probably knew, maybe even served pastry or bread, hated me enough to do this.
We'd been staying at Mei's guesthouse since the fire. Two bedrooms. Cristox in one, me and Teddy in the other. I knew how it looked. Hell, I'd seen Mrs. Chen's raised eyebrows at the market yesterday, the way her gaze had lingered on the soot still under my fingernails. I'd heard the whispers cut off like scissors snipping thread when I walked into the general store. Ruby Greenlee, shacking up with the alien while her apartment was still smoking.
Let them talk.
Because the truth was, I felt safe with Cristox. For the first time since the fire—maybe for the first time in years—I slept through the night without jerking awake at every sound. And Teddy was safe with him. I knew that with a bone-deep certainty that settled into my marrow.
I couldn't stop thinking about how Cristox had run into those flames without a second thought. For Teddy. For our son. He'd kicked down that door, found my baby through smoke so thick you couldn't see your hand in front of your face, and carried him to safety.
The day after the fire, Cristox disappeared for hours. I'd been too numb to ask where he was going, too exhausted from answering the fire chief's endless questions and trying to keep Teddy calm while he clung to me and cried. When Cristox came back, he carried bags. So many bags.
Clothes for both of us—jeans, shirts, underwear, all in the right sizes somehow. Toiletries. Toothbrushes, shampoo, the specific brand of lotion I always used that smelled like rosemary and cost too much and toys for Teddy. Then he pulled out two comm units, still in their boxes, and a datapad loaded with educational games.
"You need to be able to call for help," he'd said simply, setting up the comms. "And Teddy needs something to occupy his mind."
I'd stood there in the kitchen, surrounded by bags of things we desperately needed but hadn't had the mental capacity to think about acquiring, and felt something crack open in my chest. He'd thought of everything. Everything I was too broken to think of myself.
"Cristox, I can't—I'll pay you back, I just need to—"
"Ruby." His voice had been firm but gentle. Final. "Stop."
I'd wanted to argue. Wanted to maintain some shred of independence, of pride, of the self-sufficiency I'd built my entire adult life around. But I was so damn tired, and he was looking at me with those honey-brown eyes that saw too much, that saw through every defense I'd ever built, straight into the broken, terrified woman beneath. All I could manage was a whispered, "Thank you."
He'd just nodded, like it was nothing. Like buying us a whole new life was just something you did on a Thursday afternoon. Like taking care of me and Teddy was as natural to him as breathing.
I stood at the sink, rinsing the taste of bile from my mouth and looked at Cristox's reflection in the mirror. He was covered in soot. Black streaks ran across his face like war paint. His clothes were filthy and reeked of smoke, ash clinging to his hair, dulling its usual shine. He looked like he'd been rolling around in the charred remains of my life.
Which, I realized with a sinking feeling, he probably had been.
"Cristox?"
"Bartholemeus and I went through what was left," he said, his voice rough with smoke damage and something else. Something darker, more primal. He pulled off his jacket, careful not to let the soot touch anything. "I'm sorry, Ruby. There's not much to save."
