Chapter 15 Kairo
KAIRO
Iwake with sunlight sliding across the ceiling in lazy ribbons, the smell of cinnamon and toasted oats drifting in from the kitchen, and my lips still tingling.
He didn’t stay. He kissed me like I was the gravity holding his entire world together, and then he left.
Smart man. I wouldn’t have been able to say goodbye if he’d lingered.
I sit up slowly, the cotton sheets twisted around my legs.
My fingers brush my lips, and I swear the heat of last night is still there.
That kiss... it wasn’t just a kiss. It was years of yearning condensed into a few heartbeats.
The kind of kiss that rewrites something inside you.
Makes you look at your life and ask questions you aren’t sure you want the answers to.
And now, everything is different. But nothing’s settled.
“Mamaaaaa!” Ben’s voice tears through my inner monologue like a sonic boom, followed by the unmistakable thud-thud-thud of little feet stampeding down the hall. A second later, he launches himself onto the bed, giggling.
“Whoa!” I catch him just before he knocks into my ribs.
“You’re slow today,” he grins, peering into my face. “Were you up late reading your mushy books again?”
I force a laugh. “Something like that.”
He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling like it holds the mysteries of the universe. “Hey, Mama? Can Mr. Kuraken come for breakfast?”
The question hits like a pulse bomb. I blink.
“You want... Mr. Kuraken?” I try to keep my voice light.
“Yeah! He’s funny. And he doesn’t make the waffles too crunchy. Maliek burns 'em.”
I bite back a sigh. “He’s a busy guy, honey.”
Ben shrugs. “You could ask?”
I rub at my forehead, which is suddenly pounding. “Okay. Just for breakfast.”
Ben whoops and flies off the bed, disappearing in a blur of pajamas and boundless energy.
I throw on jeans and a soft sweater and call Jav before I can change my mind. He answers on the second ring, voice low and amused.
“You miss me already?”
“You left a frosting trail,” I say dryly. “Ben wants breakfast.”
“I’m on my way.”
By the time he arrives, the waffle iron is hissing, and I’ve made a mental checklist of exactly how to keep this casual. Controlled. Civil.
All of it goes out the airlock the moment Jav walks through the door with a bag of fresh berries and a cocky smile.
“Mornin’, teacher,” I mutter, trying not to melt.
“Morning, mama,” he replies with a wink.
Ben races up and grabs his hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Jav doesn’t hesitate—just ruffles his hair and crouches beside him to ask if he wants extra whipped cream today.
It’s surreal. The two of them, side by side, laughing over toppings and waffle patterns. It should feel like a dream or a trap. Instead, it feels like... a life. Like the life I sometimes imagine when the lights are off and my defenses are down.
Jav moves through my kitchen like he belongs here. He plates waffles like a chef, even warms the syrup. Ben chatters non-stop. I barely have to say a word.
Then his Holopad pings.
He checks it casually at first. But I watch his posture shift. Shoulders tight. Jaw ticking once.
He moves to the corner to answer it, murmuring something low in that other language, the one he switches to when things get... less savory.
I follow.
Over his shoulder, I see the caller ID: Rexil Nine.
I know that name.
“Who is that?” I ask, my voice already hardening.
Jav doesn’t turn around. “It’s nothing urgent.”
“Try again.”
He exhales slowly, still not facing me. “Just... a contact. From before.”
I step back like I’ve been slapped.
“You’re still in it,” I whisper.
“Kairo—”
“No. Don’t do that. Don’t lie. You’re still connected. You brought it here, into my home. Around Ben.”
He finally looks at me, and his expression twists—anger, guilt, something unnameable all flashing at once.
“I’ve kept him safe. I am keeping him safe.”
I shake my head. “You don’t get to say that. Not when your past is still dialing in mid-waffle.”
“I didn’t ask for this call—”
“But you answered it.”
That stops him cold.
We stare at each other across the kitchen. The waffles are getting cold. Ben is humming in the living room, lining up syrup bottles like soldiers.
I lower my voice, trying not to cry. “You can’t have both, Jav. You can’t play house and wear blood on your hands.”
His throat bobs. “I’m trying to change.”
“Try harder.”
I walk past him and open the door.
He hesitates.
“I’ll go,” he says softly.
Then he’s gone.
The door clicks shut, and the air feels hollow.
I return to the kitchen, where Ben looks up with wide eyes.
“Where’d Mr. Kuraken go?”
“He had to leave,” I say gently, ruffling his hair.
“Will he come back?”
I don’t answer.
Because I don’t know.