Chapter 8
JAV
Dismissal is the worst part of the school day.
Not because of the kids—those tiny terrors I can handle. No, it’s the moms.
One of them, a sharp-eyed woman in a mauve suit with precision-braided hair, steps forward as I open the door.
“Mr. Kuraken,” she says with a smile so tight it could be used for strangulation. “We’ve been meaning to schedule a meeting.”
I smile back, every tooth on display. “Lucky for you, I’m here now.”
She blinks. “It’s about your… credentials.”
Of course it is.
“Ah, yes,” I say, clasping my hands behind my back. “My dissertation on interspecies peace-building through early childhood education did raise a few eyebrows.”
She narrows hers. “You have a doctorate?”
“Technically, several. I also served as an education advisor on Nivareth-4 during the ceasefire accords. Taught conflict de-escalation to hatchlings.”
The lie comes so smooth I almost believe it myself.
She tilts her head, trying to find a crack. “You seem... unconventional.”
“I’m not here to *seem* anything. I’m here to teach. With compassion. With discipline. And,” I add, lowering my voice like it’s a secret, “an advanced understanding of sticker-based motivational systems.”
Her mouth twitches.
I push just a little harder.
“The children are engaged. Test scores are up. And no one’s tried to eat a crayon in two days. Can any of your previous instructors say the same?”
She huffs through her nose and steps aside.
I count it as a win.
Ben clings to my leg like a barnacle as I finish handing off the last of the kids.
“Can I ride home with you?” he asks, peering up with those wide green eyes that make something ache deep in my chest.
I hesitate.
“Mom’s coming, right?”
He nods. “But she said she has to talk to someone first and she’s gonna be late again and—”
I cave.
“Alright. But only if you promise to sit in the front and not touch the dashboard.”
He pumps a tiny fist in victory.
Kairo opens the door mid-sentence, phone to her ear, expression set to *not today, Satan.*
When she sees me, it shifts into something closer to nuclear detonation.
She ends the call with a curt, “I’ll call you back.”
“Explain,” she says, already moving toward me like she’s planning to remove my spine through sheer force of will.
“Surprise visit,” I say, smiling.
“I told you—”
Ben bolts past us, yelling, “STORY TIME!” like it’s a sacred ritual.
Kairo pinches the bridge of her nose. “You can’t just take him without asking.”
“He asked me.”
“That’s not how this works, Jav.”
Her voice is sharp, but under it I hear the fear. The stress. The tightrope she walks every day trying to protect that kid and keep herself sane.
I take a step closer, dropping the smile.
“I’m not here to make your life harder.”
“You’re doing a bang-up job, then.”
I glance toward the living room, where Ben is already curled up on the couch, cradling a picture book about space whales.
“I just wanted to read him a story.”
She crosses her arms. “One story.”
“One story,” I agree.
The book is ridiculous.
The space whales have monocles and speak in rhyme. One of them teaches math with fruit metaphors. But Ben’s laugh—sharp and sudden—makes it worth every idiotic page.
I close the book and glance up to see Kairo standing in the hallway, arms crossed but eyes soft.
“He loves you,” she says quietly.
I look at her.
“No, not like that,” she corrects. “I mean, he *likes* you. Trusts you. That doesn’t happen easily with him.”
I set the book down, heart thudding too loud in my ears.
“You think I’m not capable of being a father,” I say.
She doesn’t answer.
So I keep going.
“Let me prove you wrong.”
There’s silence. Then, just as quiet, she says:
“Remember that you have one week.”
And walks away.