Chapter 3
RYNN
Nessa’s body is warm against mine, all wiry limbs and little shivers.
She’s curled tight into my side on the threadbare couch, her head tucked beneath my chin like she’s five months old instead of five years.
I run my fingers slowly through her curls, still damp from the fever sweat.
The storm outside batters Corven-7’s colony walls with rhythmic bursts of wind and dust, and the old windows hum with pressure.
Inside, the lights flicker again — third time in the last half hour.
I know it’s not the storm.
It’s her.
“I don’t feel good,” Nessa mumbles, voice thick with sleep.
“I know, baby.” I press a kiss to her hair, breathing in that sweet, familiar scent of cinnamon soap and something wild and metallic beneath — the part of her I can’t scrub away, no matter how much I want to. “Your stomach still hurts?”
She nods against my chest. Her skin is too warm. Not dangerously so, but high enough to make my pulse tick up. She’s growing faster. Changing faster.
And I can’t keep up.
“Want me to make some tea?” I ask.
“No,” she murmurs. “Just stay here.”
So I stay.
I stay, because right now, this is the only thing that makes sense.
I stay, because I don’t know how many more of these moments we’ll get before it all crumbles.
The room is dim except for the pale blue glow of the holo-screen — muted cartoons flickering like ghosts across the wall.
Nessa’s little hand is splayed across my ribs, claws just slightly extended.
They do that when she’s scared.
And right now… I know she’s scared.
I tighten my arm around her. Her body relaxes a little, the weight of her trust settling heavy against my side.
A few minutes pass in silence.
Then she whispers, “Mama?”
“Mm?”
She shifts just enough to look up at me. Her face is flushed, her golden irises glowing faintly in the low light — and gods, they’re brighter now. No doubt about it. No hiding that hue under the school’s weak eye-scanners much longer.
Her voice is so quiet I almost don’t hear her.
“Did my daddy ever love me?”
I stop breathing.
For one perfect second, the world just… stops.
The storm outside vanishes. The walls disappear. Even my own heartbeat goes silent.
Just that question.
Hanging there like a blade.
And her eyes.
Looking at me like I hold the answer to everything.
I swallow the lump rising in my throat.
She’s too young for this.
Too young to know what kind of world she was born into, what kind of father I lied about every time she asked.
I smooth a curl behind her ear.
Fake a smile.
Try to keep my voice steady.
“Of course he did, baby,” I whisper. “He… he loved you before he even met you.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
It’s the first lie I ever told her.
And every time I say it, it breaks me a little more.
She nods, content for the moment. Her eyes drift closed again.
But the damage is done.
Because now I can’t stop seeing Vael’s face when he wakes up.
The way his eyes snapped open and went straight to me.
The anger and confusion and hurt there, all wrapped up in one impossible look.
He doesn’t know.
He can’t know.
Not yet.
And not just because I’m not ready.
Because if the Alliance finds out about Nessa’s hybrid genetics, they won’t see a child.
They’ll see an experiment.
A weapon.
A threat.
I know what happened to the other children like her.
The ones who didn’t make it offworld in time.
The ones who disappeared.
I won’t let that happen to Nessa.
Even if it means facing Vael again and telling him she never existed.
Later that night, I sit by the sink with a cup of tea gone cold and stare at the readout on my handheld scanner.
The last spike came three hours ago.
Right when Nessa’s fever peaked.
Right when the lights flickered and the air recycler shorted for eight seconds.
Electromagnetic anomaly.
Localized.
Strong enough to trip half the medbay’s automated alert systems.
And if anyone checks the logs…
I scrub a hand down my face, pulse spiking.
She’s not just growing. She’s manifesting.
That’s not supposed to happen. Not this early.
I knew the Vakutan genes would kick in eventually.
I prepared for that. I planned, I trained, I built an entire life out here on the edge of nowhere just to buy us time.
But five years old? That’s too soon.
And I’m running out of excuses.
The school already flagged her eyes in the last scan.
They think it’s an anomaly.
An error.
They haven’t looked twice yet.
But they will.
And when they do, I won’t have time to explain.
I press the scanner to the table and exhale slowly through my teeth.
Vael.
He’s not the same man I left behind.
And I’m not the same woman who loved him.
That woman died in a bunker with a broken comm and blood on her hands.
This one?
She’s just trying to keep her daughter alive.
No matter what it costs.