Chapter 27
KAIRO
I’ve gotten good at swallowing my instincts.
You don’t survive being the ex of a mob heir turned kindergarten sweetheart without learning how to silence the alarms screaming in your head. But tonight, the silence tastes sour. Thick. Like the air before a storm hits.
Jav’s limping.
He thinks he’s hiding it—walking just a touch slower, favoring one side, always moving through doorways like he’s careful not to disturb the furniture. But I notice. I’ve always noticed.
The man wears secrets like a second skin. And I used to be fluent in every wrinkle, every scar.
Now?
Now I don’t know what language we’re speaking anymore.
Ben’s asleep. Passed out mid-sentence during a debate about whether cupcakes or waffles would win in an interstellar food war. He voted for waffles. Jav said cupcakes have range. I didn’t vote.
I just listened.
Watching them. Memorizing the sound of them laughing together.
Now I’m in the kitchen, arms crossed, back against the counter. The hum of the refrigerator buzzes in rhythm with the static crawling up my spine. Jav’s at the table, sipping stim-brew he doesn’t even pretend to like.
He hasn’t looked at me in ten minutes.
That’s how I know he’s hiding something.
I finally ask the question I’ve been chewing on for three nights straight.
“Have you been back in the life?”
He doesn’t look up. Not immediately.
Then he does.
His face is a portrait of practiced calm. “No.”
One word. Clean. Precise.
Too precise.
The lie slides between us like a knife.
I don’t call it out.
I just stare at him until his gaze slides off mine, down into the mug, as if the answer might be hiding at the bottom.
It’s not.
“You sure?” I ask, voice low. “Because I know what broken ribs look like.”
He chuckles, but it’s hollow. “Slipped on a rain panel.”
“You’re not that clumsy.”
“Been out of practice.”
I let the silence stretch.
It coils around us like smoke. Chokes us both.
But I don’t push. Not tonight.
I’m not ready to hear more lies.
Instead, I nod. Slow. Mechanical.
And then I turn and walk away.
Ben’s room smells like warm sheets and markers. A pile of crayon drawings sits on the edge of his desk, half-tumbled, a rainbow avalanche waiting to happen. I glance at them as I pass, meaning to straighten them later, but one catches my eye.
It’s different.
Bolder. Sharper.
Ben’s drawn Jav.
Sort of.
It’s him—the horns, the grin, the unmistakable eyes—but his body is bigger, stretched with superhero bulk, and instead of arms, he has claws. Big ones. Like tiger paws, inked in neon red.
And above him, in clumsy, blocky letters, it says:
“Mr. K: SPACE CLAW HERO”
I stare at it.
Can’t stop staring.
The paper shakes in my hand. I don’t realize I’m holding it that tight until the edges crumple.
Because even in a world of glitter glue and galactic snack monsters, Ben knows. Some part of him sees the truth. Feels it. The way Jav disappears for hours, comes back with shadows under his eyes. The way he moves like he’s always halfway through a war zone.
My son sees the man behind the stories.
And still thinks he’s a hero.
I sit on the edge of the bed and watch Ben breathe. Soft little huffs. He hugs a plush moon-dino to his chest like it’s a lifeline.
What am I even protecting him from anymore?
The truth is coming.
Whether I open the door or not.
And I have to decide—am I going to run like I always have? Pack up, cut ties, vanish into a quieter life where safety is a performance I rehearse every morning?
Or am I going to stay?
Stay and face the man who can’t stop lying to protect us from the very world he refuses to leave behind.
“If I can’t protect you both from my world, I’ll cut myself out of it.”
I think of him saying that on the rooftop.
Of how his hands trembled after.
I think he meant it.
I also think he doesn’t know how.
My compad vibrates against my thigh.
The screen lights up. Maliek.
I answer on reflex, voice low. “Hey.”
His voice is all silk and stress. “We need to talk. About Ben.”
I stand up, the air sucked from my lungs like a depressurized hatch.
“What about him?”
“Not now. Tomorrow. In person.”
“Maliek.”
He sighs. “It’s not bad. It’s just… important. You’ll want to hear it face to face.”
I glance back at the drawing in my hand. Jav with claws. A cape made of stars.
“What are you planning?” I ask.
“Nothing without you. I promise.”
That’s not a no.
“I’ll come by the studio,” I say. “Mid-morning.”
He hesitates.
“Bring Ben.”
“What?”
“I want to talk to both of you.”
My stomach knots. “Why?”
“You’ll see.”
The line clicks off before I can ask anything else.
I walk back into the living room. Jav’s still at the table, head bowed like the stim’s whispering secrets to him.
I don’t say anything.
I just look at him.
He looks up. Eyes tired.
“Everything okay?”
I nod.
Another lie.
But we’re neck-deep in those tonight, aren’t we?
He doesn’t push.
He just watches me walk away.
And I don’t stop him.