Chapter 28
JAV
The thing about power is—it doesn’t vanish when you walk away.
It lingers. Like gun oil on your hands. Like smoke in your hair. Like the kind of music you can’t unhear, no matter how many children’s songs you hum to drown it out.
I’m in the old Redscale quarter, standing in the backroom of a noodle joint that hasn’t seen a real health inspection since the first Galactic Treaty. The air’s heavy with spice, grease, and secrets.
My armor’s still stashed under my coat, ribs aching from the last mission. I’m pretending it doesn’t hurt.
Around the table sit four men and one woman—all old contacts, all Redscale to the bone. They’re watching me like I’m a ghost that doesn’t know it’s dead yet.
“You’re losing your edge,” says Kesh, the eldest. He’s got scales that look burnished in the low light and a voice like gravel. “You let the Nine take your accountant and you send a quiet team to fetch him? No message? No retaliation? You used to understand leverage, boy.”
Boy.
That used to sting.
Now it just makes me tired.
Garkin sits beside me, arms crossed, eyes flicking between us. He looks like he’s trying to figure out whether he’s going to have to pull a gun or a miracle.
I lean forward, elbows on the table. “We got Verin back alive. That was the objective.”
“The objective,” Kesh growls, “was to remind the Nine that Redscale blood don’t bleed easy.”
“And what? You want a war?” I snap. “We’re barely standing after the last one. You want me to start another because your ego misses the sound of blasters?”
Silence.
The woman, Rinna, speaks next. Her tone’s cooler. Controlled. “They’re watching you, Kuraken. Every move. They see the school. The woman. The… boy.”
My fingers curl around the edge of the table. “Leave them out of it.”
“They won’t,” she says simply. “The Nine don’t forgive sentiment. They smell weakness faster than blood.”
I breathe in through my nose, slow. The spice in the air burns my throat.
“I’m not weak,” I say.
Garkin glances at me. He doesn’t speak, but I can feel the warning in the set of his shoulders.
Kesh smirks. “You sure? Because it looks like you’re trying to live two lives at once. And that never ends clean.”
“Maybe I’m trying to build something that doesn’t end in a body count.”
“Then you better make peace with losing everything that does.”
The words hang there, thick and heavy. Someone shifts. The chair squeaks. Outside, a delivery skiff rattles past, its engines whining.
Finally, Garkin clears his throat. “That’s enough philosophy for one night,” he says. “We got shipments to reroute and eyes to keep off our backs.”
Kesh rises. “You can’t keep this up, Kuraken. Sooner or later, you’ll have to pick a side.”
He leaves. The others follow.
Only Garkin stays.
He waits until the door seals behind them, then says quietly, “They’re not wrong.”
“Don’t start.”
“I’m serious, Jav. You’re walking a fence between two storms. One’s the Nine. The other’s her. You think you can balance both, but you can’t. You’ll fall. And when you do, you won’t land clean.”
I rub a hand over my face. The skin along my jaw feels rough, gritty. I haven’t slept more than three hours a night in weeks.
“Maybe,” I say. “But if I fall, at least I’ll know which side I was facing when it happened.”
He shakes his head, muttering something that sounds like a prayer or a curse. “You used to be smart.”
“I used to be scared,” I say. “There’s a difference.”
We part ways in the alley, the city’s neon bleeding red and blue over the puddles at our feet. The rain smells like rust and ozone. I stand there for a while, just breathing, until the ache in my ribs flares and reminds me I’m not invincible.
Then I head to the school.
The morning rush has already begun by the time I arrive. The hallways hum with chatter, small shoes slapping against tile, laughter bouncing off every surface. The air smells like crayons, sanitizer, and faintly of blueberry syrup from the cafeteria.
It should feel comforting.
Instead, every instinct in me twitches. Too open. Too visible. Too many exits.
I force myself to breathe.
“Mr. Kuraken!” one of the kids yells. “You’re late!”
“Am I?” I grin, crouching to their level. “Then I guess I owe the class ten glitter stars.”
“Twenty!” a girl pipes up.
“Fifteen and not a star more.”
They giggle. I can fake normal. I can fake it all day if I have to.
But as I walk down the hall, the hairs on the back of my neck rise. Someone’s watching me.
I spot him near the display of class projects—the glitter-and-glue dioramas of “Our Solar Neighborhood.” He’s out of place immediately: sharp suit, expensive shoes, the kind of posture that belongs in a boardroom, not a school hallway.
Maliek.
Kairo’s agent. The one with too many opinions and not enough boundaries.
I slow my pace.
He notices me and smiles like we’re old friends. “Mr. Kuraken.”
“Mr. Haines,” I say evenly. “Can I help you with something?”
He gestures around with mock admiration. “Charming place. Very… wholesome.”
“It’s a school.”
“So I gathered.”
We stand there, tension masquerading as civility. The hallway empties around us—teachers herding kids into classrooms, doors closing one by one until it’s just us and the faint hum of the ventilation system.
I cross my arms. “You don’t look like you’re here for career day.”
He tilts his head. “You’re sharper than the file said.”
“What file?”
He doesn’t answer. Just smiles that publicist smile again, all teeth and politics. “I’m here to check on Ben.”
My jaw tightens. “Check on him?”
“He’s important to Kairo,” Maliek says smoothly. “And by extension, to me. I look after her interests. Her family’s interests.”
I take a step closer. “You’re her agent, not her husband.”
He doesn’t flinch. “Details.”
The urge to bare my teeth hits me hard. I swallow it down. The air between us thickens.
Maliek straightens his cuffs. “She’s meeting me later. We’re discussing Ben’s future.”
“What about it?”
“Oh, the usual—schooling, guardianship, publicity… opportunities. He’s a bright kid, you know. Adorable. Marketable.”
“Marketable?” The word tastes like acid. “He’s not a brand, Maliek.”
“He could be,” he says softly. “If you weren’t standing in the way.”
My hands curl into fists. I take a slow breath through my nose.
He keeps talking, oblivious—or maybe enjoying this. “You’ve made quite a splash, Mr. Kuraken. The reformed bad boy teaching toddlers. The galaxy loves a redemption arc. But redemption sells best when it’s complete. And I have to wonder… how complete is yours?”
He leans in, voice low. “Rumor has it, you’ve been taking midnight strolls through the old Redscale tunnels. That doesn’t exactly fit the family-friendly narrative, does it?”
My pulse spikes. “Careful.”
He chuckles. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not going to the press. Yet. I just want clarity. See, Kairo and I… we’ve known each other a long time. I’ve been there since before Ben was born. Before you were in the picture again.”
“Is that so?”
“It is. And between us—” he lowers his voice even further “—I’ve always wondered if maybe the kid takes after me more than you think.”
For a heartbeat, everything in me goes still.
No sound. No breath.
Just that one sentence echoing.
Then I smile.
It’s small. Controlled.
The kind of smile that makes people forget to breathe.
“You might want to get a paternity test,” I say softly, “before you embarrass yourself.”
His face twitches. Just slightly.
I step closer until the distance between us is measured in heartbeats.
“I’m not a violent man anymore,” I murmur. “But I’ve got instincts. They tend to flare when people start talking about my son.”
“Your—”
“My student,” I correct smoothly. “Don’t twist my words.”
For a moment, he can’t tell if I’m joking. Neither can I.
The tension breaks when a door opens down the hall. A teacher pokes her head out, smiling brightly. “Mr. Kuraken? The morning circle’s ready!”
I glance at Maliek. “Excuse me.”
He doesn’t move.
So I walk past him, close enough that my shoulder brushes his.
“Pleasure chatting,” I say.
He mutters something under his breath. I don’t catch it. I don’t care.
Inside the classroom, the kids are already sitting cross-legged in a lopsided circle. Ben spots me and waves a crayon-stained hand.
“Mr. K! We’re drawing heroes again!”
“Yeah?” I manage a smile. “Let’s make ‘em even better this time.”
As I lower myself to the floor, pain lances through my side. I grit my teeth and focus on the kids’ laughter instead. Their energy fills the room—bright, unfiltered, alive.
Maliek lingers in the hallway for a moment before leaving. I see his reflection in the glass—just long enough to catch the smug tilt of his mouth.
I’ll let him have his moment.
For now.
Because I know the truth.
And sooner or later, so will Kairo.
When the day ends, I stay late. Clean up the chalk. Sweep the glitter that never really leaves. The sunset bleeds through the windows, painting the classroom gold.
For a moment, I let myself breathe.
Then my ribs remind me of what I am.
My comm buzzes once—Garkin’s code.
Just one line of text:
The Nine are moving.
I close my eyes.
The peace I was pretending to have collapses like paper in rain.