Chapter 3
LUNA
The shadow drapes across my walk-up window like a curtain yanked from another lifetime.
The filtered suns of Arkosh bounce off the dust-streaked glass and catch in a gleam of red-gold outside.
I don't look up at first. I’m elbow-deep in a crate manifest that won’t sync, muttering curses at the lazy droid that loaded it with the wrong tag again.
Then I hear it—three soft knuckles rapping on the counter ledge. Not a worker’s impatient thump. Not a drunk’s sloppy pound.
A knowing knock. Measured. Intentional.
I lift my gaze—and time dies.
Kraj.
He’s real. Right here. Like the war didn’t chew him up.
Like the Coalition didn’t strip him out of my life like spoiled wiring.
His scales catch the glare of the sun—deep crimson dappled with burnished amber, like embers dancing in a forge.
His shoulders fill the frame like he could block out the sky if he stood taller.
I go still.
The stylus slips from my fingers and rolls off the counter. I don’t flinch. My heart’s already rocketing around my ribcage like a trapped bird. My mouth’s too dry to curse, to scream, to breathe.
His voice, when it comes, is that same damn low rumble that used to send heat up my spine.
“Luna.”
I blink. His name dies in my throat, but something else makes it past my lips.
“You.”
That’s it. Just the word. Loaded like a bullet.
He tilts his head slightly, unreadable, his golden eyes flicking over me like he’s seeing a ghost, or maybe recognizing a wound he once carved.
“Don’t start screaming,” he says, lifting both hands in mock surrender. “I just came to say hi. Maybe offer to buy you a cup of coffee.”
“Coffee?” My voice cracks. “You think this is about coffee?”
His mouth curls in that infuriating half-smile. “Maybe closure, then. One cup. No games.”
I stare. Long enough for my chest to start aching from holding my breath. Then my hand hits the emergency shutter switch.
The panel slams down between us with a metallic screech, and I stumble back like the act might sever the last of his influence over me. It doesn’t. His face burns behind my eyelids.
For a second, I just stand there. Pulse hammering. Hands shaking.
He’s here. On Arkosh. He found me.
And he wants coffee?
No. I can’t do this—not at work. Not with cameras on me and god knows who watching. I log out, throw my datapad in my satchel, and punch in a half-day request with trembling fingers. I don’t even wait for confirmation.
I pick up Solie early from the crèche.
She throws her arms around me, sticky with fingerpaint and giggling. “Mama! You’re home early!”
“Yeah, bug. Change of plans.”
“Are we doing something fun?”
“Something... different,” I say, brushing a clump of hair from her cheek.
The whole walk home, my eyes flick over every rooftop. Every alley. Every window that reflects sunlight just wrong enough to hint at something more.
Solie skips beside me, humming a song she makes up as she goes, completely unaware that the tectonic plates of my life just shifted underfoot. I grip her little hand harder than I should, and she glances up.
“You okay, Mama?”
“Just tired, sweetheart.”
A lie. But not a big one.
Once home, I double-check every lock and seal the windows tight. Solie’s too wound up to notice. She tumbles through the apartment like a starfire comet, dragging stuffed toys and humming battle tunes.
“I’m gonna take a nap,” I lie again. “You watch your shows, okay?”
“Okay!” she chirps, climbing onto the couch with her starwhale and a blanket twice her size.
The moment her eyes are glued to the screen, I slip into my room and shut the door behind me. My hands are already moving before I consciously decide to.
I dig out the old floor panel beneath the bed. The hinges squeak like they haven’t moved in a decade. My fingers close around the wrapped bundle beneath.
The compad’s still there. Still cold. Still waiting.
Three years since he vanished.
Three years since he left this thing behind with a scribbled note: If you ever need answers.
I key it on. The screen blinks. Dust motes swirl in the blue glow.
There’s only one file.
FOR L.
I hesitate. My finger hovers above it like opening the file will make all of it real again. The betrayal. The disappearance. The truth.
I open it.
The file stutters as it loads. There's encryption damage—half the data fractured into nonsense characters and corrupted headers. But the Coalition seal is there, flickering in the corner like a branding iron.
I don’t understand most of what scrolls past. But a few words leap out. Words that slam into me like a closed fist.
Asset Used: Desmond, L.
Status: unaware.
Objective: information gathering through proximity engagement.
Contingency Protocol: liquidation of compromised asset.
I choke back a sound—something between a sob and a snarl.
It’s all there. Redacted to hell, encrypted into oblivion, but enough to read between the lines. I wasn’t just collateral.
I was the assignment.
The compad screen flickers again. Then crashes. Just black.
I shove it away like it’s poison and press my palms to my eyes until stars bloom behind my lids.
Kraj wasn’t some rogue soldier who got lost in the war.
He was sent to me.
He used me.
And now he’s back. Smiling. Asking for coffee.
And the worst part?
I said yes.
The tram wheezes into the station like a dying animal, exhaling exhaust that stinks of rust and ozone. Its hydraulics hiss as it settles, and the crowd of factory workers and freight drivers spills out in waves—most too tired to notice anything but the next footstep.
But I see him.
He leans against the railing near the station gate, pretending not to look. But I know a surveillance stance when I see one, even if it’s wearing civilian clothes and trying to blend into Arkosh’s dusty backdrop.
Kraj.
He doesn’t wear a uniform, but he may as well be draped in every mistake I’ve ever made.
My stomach twists, bile tangling with old rage. My legs keep moving like I’m on rails myself, pulled by some furious momentum I can’t stop. My boots crunch hard against the gravel, and the cold morning air rips through my lungs like broken glass.
His head turns as I approach, just slightly. He knows it’s me.
“Thought I made myself clear yesterday,” I say, my voice low and sharp.
Kraj straightens slowly, all fluid muscle and coiled grace. He’s too big for this world, too real. The shadows curl off his shoulders like smoke, and his eyes—gods, those eyes—glow like molten gold under Arkosh’s twin suns.
I jab a finger into his chest, and the heat of his body hits me through his shirt like a brand.
“Stay the hell away from me,” I snarl. “From me. From my daughter.”
That cracks him.
For just a blink, the smug confidence wavers. His eyes widen—slightly—but enough. His mouth opens, then closes. “You have a kid?”
I feel it—like I stepped onto a mine and it didn’t go off. Yet.
He backs up half a step, blinking hard. “Is she—?” His voice trails off.
“Don’t you dare.” I step into his space now, all fury and fire. “You don’t get to ask. You lost that right the second you disappeared like a coward.”
“I didn’t disappear,” he says quietly. “I was—”
“Don’t lie to me again,” I snap, my words like blades. “I’ve read enough. I know what you were. What I was to you.”
“I didn’t want to—” He looks like he’s about to reach for me, like instinct’s dragging him forward.
I flinch back, and that’s enough to stop him cold.
“I’m not here to hurt you, Luna.”
“No, you’re just here to poke at the ruins and see what’s still smoldering.” My voice breaks on the edges, despite everything. I hate that he still has that power. “Go home, Kraj. Crawl back into whatever war pit you came from.”
“I’m not asking for a second chance,” he says, and there’s something in his voice now—rougher, honest maybe. “Just… coffee. One cup. Closure.”
I laugh. It’s ugly. It sounds like it hurts. “Closure?”
“One cup,” he says again. “That’s all.”
I should walk away. I should spit in his face. I should scream until patrol drones show up and tase him into a coma.
But I don’t.
Because I do need closure. I need to look him in the face and burn out whatever’s still clinging to my ribs like ivy.
I exhale through my nose and step back.
“Fine,” I say. “One cup. That’s it.”
He nods, once. No smile. Just that unreadable look, like something important just shifted behind his eyes.
“I’ll message you,” I say, “when I pick a place. Neutral ground. Public.”
“Understood.” His voice is so soft I almost miss it.
I turn on my heel and walk away before I do something stupid—like cry, or scream, or ask him why the hell he ever left.
Behind me, I can feel his gaze on my back. It’s not a spy’s look. It’s not cold or calculating.
It’s desperate.
And worse?
It feels like home.