Chapter 24 Jav
JAV
Itake her to the roof.
Not just any roof—the roof. One of the few places on Glimner where the Nine haven’t sunk their claws in. No surveillance grids. No street-level scanners. Just air. Cold, clean, and quiet.
She doesn’t say a word the entire ride up. Her arms stay folded across her chest like armor, and her eyes stay fixed on the city lights smeared across the horizon. I catch a glimpse of her reflection in the windowglass. Jaw tight. Lips a thin, stubborn line.
She doesn’t want to be here.
But she came.
That’s something.
The airlock hisses open, and the night greets us like it knows we’re intruding.
The rooftop garden’s not much. Just a forgotten patch of green welded onto a condemned comms tower. A few stubborn plants cling to recycled soil in rusted hydro-trays. Vines curl up rusted railings. The scent is damp ozone, mint, and something faintly sweet—nightbloom, maybe.
It’s not much, no.
But it’s ours.
I built this place years ago. Before the raids. Before prison. Before Ben.
When I needed somewhere to breathe.
Now, I’m hoping it still remembers me.
Kairo steps out slowly, blinking in the soft amber light from the faux-moon panels I installed back when I thought ambiance mattered. Her boots crunch over gravel. She tilts her chin toward the air and closes her eyes like she’s daring the universe to give her a reason not to run.
I let her stand in silence.
Let her soak it in.
When I finally speak, my voice sounds too big in the quiet.
“You said you wanted honesty.”
She doesn’t open her eyes.
“You said you’d explain.”
I nod. Walk past her and sit on the old bench near the edge. The metal creaks but holds.
“You know what I used to be.”
“That’s not in question.”
“But what I am now… that’s complicated.”
She snorts. “Of course it is.”
“Kai,” I say, gently.
She sighs, but walks over. Sits beside me. Not close. Not far.
Just enough.
“I kept the family alive when I got out,” I begin. “Barely. Riehl tried to take the docks. The syndicate from the Spiral was bleeding our freighters dry. I came home to a broken empire and ghosts in every hallway.”
“And you rebuilt it?”
“I’m rebuilding it,” I correct. “But not the way my father would’ve wanted.”
She gives me a sideways look. “How would you want it?”
I tilt my head toward the sky. The stars are dim from all the city haze, but one or two poke through. Silent. Distant. Untouchable.
“I want a business that doesn’t bury people.”
She blinks.
“Come again?”
“I’m shifting our assets,” I say. “Pulling us out of trafficking. Cutting ties with arms smuggling. Redirecting into tech infrastructure, education, and community defense.”
“Community defense. That’s a very elegant euphemism.”
“It’s real,” I say. “We’ve started grants. For alien orphanages. Refugee pods. Trauma therapy for war-born kids. We’re building shelters on moons where the Alliance won’t even send drones.”
She stares at me.
“And the credits just magically reassign themselves?”
I smile. It’s bitter.
“No. It’s slow. Messy. People don’t like change. Especially when that change means fewer zeroes in their cut.”
She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. Her voice drops.
“Jav… you’re a mob prince trying to turn into a philanthropist. That’s not redemption. That’s schizophrenia.”
I bark out a laugh.
She doesn’t.
I run a hand over my horns. The edges are duller now. Less flash. More function.
“I’m not looking for redemption, Kai.”
“Oh no?”
“No. I don’t need to be forgiven.”
She turns toward me, eyes blazing.
“Then what the hell do you want?”
I swallow hard.
“To be seen.”
She freezes.
I press on.
“I’ve spent half my life pretending. Playing roles. Charming clients. Threatening rivals. Loving you like I was allowed to. Hiding Ben from my own hopes because I thought I didn’t deserve him.”
She doesn’t look away.
“I’m not asking for absolution. I’m asking you to look at me and see who I am now. Not who I was. Not who the galaxy painted me as. But this. This. Trying. Failing. Starting over. Trying again.”
The wind picks up. Her hair moves like fire in a storm.
She turns away.
I think I’ve lost her.
Then she speaks. Quiet.
“Do you remember the first time I caught you lying?”
I blink. “Which time?”
She huffs a humorless laugh. “The club. Under the Nova Rail. I was wired. You told me you were an importer of ‘luxury orbital textiles.’”
“Oh gods,” I groan. “Don’t remind me.”
“You winked at me. Said, ‘the fabrics aren’t the only thing that’s silky.’”
I cover my face with both hands. “Mortifying.”
“You were so smug.”
“I thought you were just another pretty face looking for a story.”
“I was.”
She pauses.
“But I didn’t expect to find you.”
My hands drop.
She’s still facing away, but her voice is bare now. Like the words are scraped raw on the way out.
“You made me laugh. You made me feel. Like I wasn’t just some overworked beat writer looking for her next hit. You… saw me.”
I reach for her hand.
She doesn’t stop me.
Our fingers link. Her skin is cold.
“Why now?” she asks.
I know what she means.
Why try to change now?
Why come back?
Why risk it?
I squeeze her hand.
“Because I woke up one day and realized the legacy I was building was just a graveyard with better PR. Because I met a kid who looked at me like I wasn’t a monster. Because I saw the woman I loved crossing the street and I felt hope for the first time in years.”
She doesn’t answer.
Doesn’t have to.
We sit in silence for a long time. The kind that stretches between galaxies.
Then I whisper, “If I can’t protect you both from my world… I’ll cut myself out of it.”
Her head jerks toward me.
I meet her eyes.
“I mean it, Kairo. If being in your life, in Ben’s life, means you’re always looking over your shoulder… I’ll walk. I’ll vanish. I’ll dismantle every piece of power I have until there’s nothing left but the part of me that can belong to you.”
She stares at me like I’ve set the stars on fire.
Then she speaks, so quietly I almost miss it.
“You really think you can change everything?”
“No,” I say. “But I can change me.”
She leans her head against my shoulder.
And for a while, we just breathe.
Together.
Not whole. Not healed.
But possible.