Page 35

Caelix is asleep on my chest.

Troka is still here.

Silent.

Present.

Helpful.

Too damn perfect.

“I should thank you,” I murmur. “For today. He had a blast.”

Troka shrugs. “Didn’t do much.”

“You brought a tactical hoverball rig for a toddler.”

“I scaled down the firepower.”

I snort. “You’re lucky he didn’t launch Jorla through the ceiling.”

“She’s small. Would’ve bounced.”

“Don’t tempt her. She’d try.”

He shifts, eyes scanning the room. “You did good, Alaina. He’s... incredible.”

“He’s a menace.”

“Yeah. But a lovable one.”

Something shifts in his tone—softens.

My throat tightens.

“I, uh...” I trail off, fingers curling in Caelix’s little shirt. “Sometimes I think I should’ve told you. Sooner.”

His gaze sharpens. “Told me what?”

“That he likes mushrooms on his pizza. It’s unnatural.”

Troka studies me like he’s reading a war report. “Mushrooms are fungus.”

“Exactly.”

A beat passes.

Then he nods. “Noted. No mushroom pizza.”

The silence between us thickens.

He should ask.

I should speak.

Neither of us does.

“I should get him to bed,” I say finally.