Chapter 21 Kairo
KAIRO
The light outside is too pale, too quiet.
I slip out of bed like I’m sneaking away from a dream I never meant to fall into.
My bare feet press against the cold floor, and I wince a little—not from the chill, but from the ache that coils up my spine.
It’s not the kind that comes from a bad mattress or restless sleep.
It’s the kind that comes from too much. Too much closeness.
Too much memory. Too much truth, knocking at the back of my ribs like it wants out.
The sheets are still warm behind me, tangled, the faintest scent of spice and static lingering on the pillow—his scent.
I don’t look back.
The hallway feels unfamiliar this morning, like I’m trespassing in a place that used to be mine. My fingers trail the wall, and every picture frame feels like a question I can’t answer.
There’s one of Ben and me at the Haven-7 Festival, him mid-laugh, blue ice cream staining the corners of his mouth.
Another from his third birthday, where Maliek’s just out of frame but his gift—a little plush grolgath dragon—is sitting center stage, oblivious to how prophetic it is.
I stop in front of that one, stare at it too long.
The dragon’s eyes are gold. Just like Jav’s ceremonial crest. Ben chose it.
I keep walking.
In the kitchen, the synth-coffee machine is blinking like it’s judging me. My compad buzzes with the persistence of someone who doesn’t understand boundaries. Or doesn’t care.
First message: Maliek.
“We need to talk. I saw the newsfeeds. You said he was gone.”
Delete.
Second: Roan.
“Hey, the publishers are pushing for a statement. They want to know if you’ll go public—talk about the ‘reunion’ vibe. We could spin it as full-circle romance—might help book four…”
Delete.
Third: School.
“Reminder: Mr. Kuraken filed for field trip clearance tomorrow. We still need your co-sign on transport forms. Also—Ben left his hover boots again.”
I almost smile at that. Almost.
Delete. All of it.
I rest my forehead against the fridge. The cool surface steadies me for half a breath.
What the hell am I doing?
Last night wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t a plan. It wasn’t safe. It was... it was me stepping into the gravitational pull of a man I swore I’d orbit from afar.
And now?
Now I’m unraveling. Quietly. Completely.
The front door hisses open.
I whirl around, heart slamming up into my throat.
And there he is.
Jav Kuraken. In my apartment. Again.
He’s wearing a soft gray sweater stretched across too many muscles and carrying two cups of caf and a flat box that smells suspiciously like croissant sticks and breakfast wraps. Ben clings to the back of his coat, grinning like he’s just been told recess lasts all day.
“Don’t freak,” Jav says casually, stepping in like he owns the place. “He opened the door. I didn’t hack your security system. Yet.”
“Mom!” Ben shouts. “Mr. K brought bacon that curls like snakes!”
I blink at him.
At both of them.
My son and… whatever Jav is.
They look—gods help me—they look right. Jav’s got this barely-there smile on his face, the kind that says he knows how dangerous this is but he’s doing it anyway. Ben’s practically vibrating with happiness, tiny hands full of food and questions and zero concept of the stakes.
My throat closes.
This… is too much.
I cross the room and snatch the box from Jav’s hand like it’s evidence in a crime scene.
“You can’t just—show up like this.”
He lifts a brow. “Why not?”
“You know why.”
He shrugs off his coat, revealing a black undershirt that fits him too well, then sits on the edge of the couch like he belongs here. Like he always did. “I figured breakfast is neutral ground.”
Ben hops onto the couch beside him, already pulling apart his wrap. “Mom, he taught me how to tell if you’re bluffing. Wanna play dice?”
“No,” I croak, voice thinner than I mean it to be.
I can feel Jav watching me.
I look away.
I pour myself a cup of caf just to have something to do with my hands, but it’s shaking. Just slightly. Just enough to betray me.
“Jav,” I say, finally turning around. “Last night…”
He sets his food down, slow.
“I shouldn’t have—” I take a breath. “It was a mistake.”
Ben looks up. “What was?”
Jav doesn’t flinch. He meets my eyes.
I hate how steady he looks. How still he is, like he’s known this conversation was coming from the second we kissed.
“You don’t believe that,” he says.
“I have to,” I bite back. “Because I have a kid to raise. I have a life to protect. I can’t… I can’t invite danger into it because it feels good in the moment.”
Ben’s ears twitch slightly—he’s listening. Or pretending not to. He picks at his wrap, glancing between us.
“Danger?” Jav repeats softly. “Is that what I am to you?”
“You’re a criminal.”
“Was.”
“You’re wanted on half a dozen systems—”
“Not anymore.”
“You kill people.”
He doesn’t answer that.
Silence stretches. Heavy. Sharp.
Ben suddenly jumps up and bolts toward his room, muttering something about coloring. The door slides shut behind him with a soft whirr.
I exhale shakily.
Jav stands. Steps close. Close enough that I can feel the heat rolling off his skin, the way the air bends around him like it knows his shape.
“You’re scared,” he says.
“No,” I lie.
“Then why are you shaking?”
I slam the caf mug down. Some of it sloshes over the edge and burns my fingers.
“I am not going to let my son get caught in the crossfire of some fantasy I built in my head when I was too young and too lonely to know better.”
Jav’s face is unreadable.
I see the hurt, though. It’s not loud. It’s in the tightness around his mouth. The way his tail stiffens just a little. The way his shoulders stay squared, but his eyes—those damn eyes—they darken like stormglass.
“I’m not a fantasy, Kairo.”
“No,” I whisper. “You’re a risk.”
He takes another step.
“Then let me be his future.”
That breaks something.
I flinch like he’s slapped me.
“Don’t do that,” I snap. “Don’t throw words like that around.”
“I’m not throwing anything. I’m offering. Let me be more than the past. More than some headline. Let me stay. I can be his father. I want to be.”
“You don’t even know what that means!”
His jaw clenches. “Then tell me.”
“I SHOULDN’T HAVE TO!”
We both freeze.
My breath is ragged.
He steps back, just enough.
“You think I don’t ache with every second I missed?” he says, voice low now. “You think I don’t play every what-if in my head on a loop? I wasn’t there because I couldn’t be. But I am now. And I want to be here. Not for me. Not even for you. For him.”
I can’t breathe.
I back into the kitchen counter and grip it like it’s the only solid thing in the room.
Jav watches me. His voice softens.
“But I won’t force my way into your world, Kairo. I know what I am. I know where I came from. But I also know I can give him something real.”
I shake my head. “He already has real.”
Jav’s voice doesn’t rise. But the gravity in it is crushing.
“He has half of real.”
Silence again.
And it’s worse than yelling.
Because it’s honest.
I cover my face with both hands.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I whisper.
He takes a breath. “Neither do I. But I’m trying.”
I nod, but it’s frantic. Disconnected. My mind is spinning too fast. I don’t want to cry, not in front of him.
“I need you to go.”
He doesn’t move.
“I mean it.”
Still nothing.
“Please, Jav.”
Finally—he nods.
Not angry. Not cold. Just… hurt.
He walks to the door, coat draped over one arm. Pauses with his back to me.
“When you’re ready,” he says, not turning around, “I’ll still be here.”
Then he’s gone.
And the silence he leaves behind feels like a scream.