Chapter 19
LUNA
The safehouse smells like dust and iron, like it’s been holding its breath for years. The walls are streaked with rust where condensation drips down the old pipes, and the floor creaks under every step like it resents the weight. It isn’t home, not even close—but it’s what we’ve got.
Vale doesn’t ask questions the night we show up. He just eyes the duffel hanging heavy off my shoulder, glances at Solie half-asleep against my chest, and pushes the door wider.
“You can take the upstairs room,” he says, his voice gravelly from years of chain-smoked leaf. “Don’t get comfortable. You shouldn’t stay long.”
That’s Vale—sharp edges, sharper silences. He used to be a tech officer for the IHC, back before politics shoved him out. Now he keeps to himself in the canyon spires, fixing generators for barter and muttering about the old days.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my throat tight.
“Don’t thank me,” he says, lowering himself into a chair that groans under his weight. He drags a tin mug toward me, the bitter smell of caf wafting out. “Just stay breathing.”
We build a routine, though routine is the wrong word when every day is a new maze.
I never take the same path twice. Some mornings we slip through the canyon markets, weaving between stalls of dried root and desert fruit.
Other days, I drag Solie up the cliffside trail, our boots crunching on shale, so I can keep eyes on every approach.
To her, it’s a game.
“Are we playing spies again, Mama?” she asks, her little hand warm in mine as we duck between two cargo haulers idling in the square.
“Yes, baby,” I tell her, forcing a smile while my heart hammers. “Always spies.”
She giggles like it’s the best thing in the world.
I switch everything over to analog. Vale digs through crates of junk until he pulls out a set of ancient radios, heavy in the hand, smelling faintly of ozone.
“No pings,” he says, holding one up to the light.
“No digital trail. If anyone finds you with these, they’ll laugh before they realize you’re invisible. ”
I tear the guts out of my datapad myself. My hands shake as I dismantle the thing I used to rely on for everything, snapping circuits and pulling out tracking chips until all that’s left is a hollow shell. It feels like cutting off my own arm.
And still… he finds ways to remind me.
A half-smoked cigar left by the stairwell—Kraj’s brand, the bitter-sweet scent unmistakable.
Footprints in the dust outside the safehouse, too big to be Vale’s, too fresh to be forgotten.
One night, a scrape on the roof pulls me upright in bed, Solie stirring beside me.
Heavy enough to be real. Too light to be a storm.
He’s not here. Not yet.
But he’s watching.
Vale catches me one morning staring at the horizon while Solie kicks a ball in the dirt yard. My arms are crossed so tight my nails dig into my own skin.
“He’ll come,” Vale says. Not a question. A flat truth.
I keep my eyes on the canyon edge, where the spires stretch jagged into the sky. “Then I’ll be ready.”
“You don’t sound ready,” he mutters, chewing on a strand of dried root. His gaze narrows, assessing. “You sound like someone already gutted.”
I snap my head toward him, anger flaring, but before I can spit a reply, Solie runs up, her cheeks flushed, her hair sticking up in a wild halo.
“Mama!” she says breathlessly, tugging on my sleeve. “Where’s Kraj? I miss him.”
The words hit harder than any blow. My stomach twists so fast I nearly gag.
Vale looks away, pretending to fiddle with the radio wires, but his jaw tightens.
I crouch, forcing a smile as I brush sweaty strands of hair from her forehead. “He’s not who we thought, baby.”
Her brows knit, her little mouth turning down. “But he made me fly.” She stretches her arms like wings, spinning once in the dust. “And he called me firefly. Nobody else calls me that.”
My chest splits wide. I take her hands in mine, holding them steady. “Sometimes… sometimes people aren’t what we want them to be.”
She frowns deeper. “But I still want him.”
Her voice is small, but the truth in it is bigger than anything I can handle.
I pull her into my arms, hugging her so tight she squeaks. My face presses into her hair, soft and sweet with the scent of soap. My throat burns as I whisper the lie, over and over, the same one I need her to believe—and maybe me too.
“He’s not who we thought. He’s not who we thought.”
But the words taste like ash, and I don’t know if I’m convincing her. Or myself.
At night, the safehouse groans with old age. The pipes hiss. The wind whistles through cracks in the shutters. Solie sleeps curled beside me, one hand clutching her toy, her breath warm and steady against my arm.
I stroke her back slowly, my fingers brushing over patches of skin that ripple faintly, scales pressing up like secrets. I whisper to her, promises I can’t keep.
“I’ll keep you safe. I’ll keep us safe.”
But my mind drifts back to him. To Kraj’s molten eyes, his laugh rumbling against my ear, the way his arms felt around both of us. To how it felt, for just a moment, like I wasn’t carrying the world alone.
I squeeze my eyes shut, but the memory doesn’t fade. It clings like smoke, filling my lungs until I choke on it.
Because walls don’t stop shadows.
And Kraj has always been a shadow I can’t outrun.
I know something’s wrong the second I step into the safehouse. The air feels different—too heavy, too still. The hairs on the back of my neck rise before I even shut the door.
My hand goes instinctively to the small blaster tucked in my pack, fingers trembling against the worn grip.
Then I see him.
Kraj is standing in the corner of the kitchen, half in shadow. No weapon. No smirk. His broad shoulders are slumped like someone carved the fight right out of him.
“I just want to talk,” he says, his voice low, rough, almost hoarse. “One time. Then I’ll leave.”
I should scream. I should draw on him. I should shove him out the door and never let him back in. But the words don’t come, and the blaster stays heavy in my bag. My pulse thunders so loud it drowns out everything else.
“You don’t get to just walk in here,” I manage, my voice cracking. “Not after—”
“I know.” His eyes find mine, molten gold in the dim light. “I know. But please. Just… listen. Once.”
Every instinct screams no. But my body betrays me. My head dips, just barely, the tiniest nod. Against every ounce of better judgment, I agree.
We sit at Vale’s rickety table, the surface scarred with old knife marks. I keep my arms crossed tight, as if holding myself together, while Kraj leans forward, claws curled against the wood but not digging in. His gaze doesn’t waver.
“You read the files,” he says, not a question.
The room tilts. My throat goes dry. “You left them hidden in your kit. What did you expect me to do?”
“I expected you’d hate me for it,” he says flatly. His jaw flexes. “And I was right.”
My laugh is sharp, bitter. “Hate doesn’t even cover it.”
He nods once, slow. “I didn’t come to Arkosh to hurt you, Luna.” His voice softens in a way I’ve never heard before—raw, stripped bare. “I came to get out. To bury all that. And you…” His eyes close briefly, then open again, blazing. “You’re the only thing that’s ever felt real.”
The words cut deep, sharper than any blade. My chest aches, my heart slamming against my ribs as tears sting my eyes. I shake my head, blinking furiously.
“Then why did you lie again?” I whisper.
The silence that follows is suffocating. His mouth opens, then shuts. His shoulders sag further, as though the weight of my question crushes him down into the chair.
He has no answer.
Of course he doesn’t.
I push back from the table, my chair scraping across the floor. “Get out.”
He stands slowly, towering over the small room but somehow seeming smaller than I’ve ever seen him. His eyes linger on me like he’s memorizing my face, and then he turns toward the door.
That’s when I hear the soft patter of feet.
“Mama?” Solie’s sleepy voice carries from the hallway. My heart lurches as she rubs her eyes with tiny fists, her hair sticking out in wild tufts.
Before I can stop her, she shuffles into the room. Her gaze lands on Kraj, and her whole face lights up.
“Kraj!” she squeals, and before either of us can react, she runs forward and throws her little arms around his leg.
He freezes. Completely still, like the air itself has gone solid around him. His hand hovers awkwardly above her head, claws flexing, then slowly—hesitantly—he rests his palm against her back.
“Don’t go,” she pleads, tilting her face up at him with a wide grin that shows her tiny teeth.
My throat closes. “Solie—”
But she’s already speaking again, her little voice clear, certain. She presses her small hand to his chest, right over his heart, and says with the innocent conviction only a child can hold:
“Mama says my heart is part yours.”
The world stops.
I gasp, the sound sharp in the still room, my hands flying to my mouth.
Kraj goes utterly still, his golden eyes wide, pupils blown wide as if a plasma bolt just ripped through him. His breath catches like he’s been struck.
For a moment, no one moves. No one breathes.
The truth—hangs in the air between us, undeniable, inescapable.
And I know, with a certainty that chills me to the bone, nothing will ever be the same again.