“You are,” I whisper, kissing the crown of his head. “Every part of you is mine.”
He curls tighter. “Then let’s go home.”
“We will. Soon.”
The rest of the evening is pretense. A toast about rebuilding legacy, a handshake with the event sponsor, a public display of grace. I smile for the holofeeds. I sign a stylized sketch someone drew of me with Pyramus. I wave at a senator’s daughter.
But it’s notme.
It’s a version. A projection. Something clean enough for broadcast.
The real me?
She’s in the hover waiting bay, holding her half-asleep son, hair mussed by his fingers and shoes scuffed from ducking crowds.
Back in the privacy of the ride, I sink into the seat and let out the breath I’ve held all night.
“I hate it,” I say into the quiet.
Rae blinks up from her datapad. “Which part?”
“All of it.”
“You were brilliant. Controlled, elegant. They adore you.”
“I don’t care if they adore me,” I say. “I care if he feels safe.”
She nods. Doesn’t press. Good.
I glance at Pyramus, his eyes closed, one red-scaled hand pressed to my collarbone like a claim.
“He doesn’t deserve this,” I murmur.
“No,” Rae says. “He deserves peace. But heneedsyour protection. And right now, that means letting them see what you want them to see.”
“What if they stop believing it?”
“Then we remind them who you are.”
I look out the window. The skyline crawls by like a memory half-forgotten.
“Do you believe it, Rae?”
She doesn’t look up from the pad.
“I believe in the way you hold him. That’s enough for me.”
At home, after the storm has passed and Pyramus is tucked into bed, I step onto the balcony.
The city hums below like it’s afraid to sleep.
I lean on the rail, watching the stars pulse behind smoglight and passing cruisers.
Somewhere out there is a ghost I never buried.
The galaxy’s darling, they called me tonight.
But all I’ve ever wanted is to be the one he came back for.
