Chapter 29
KAIRO
Ihit the door of the school hallway like I’m slamming a warning into every locker, every linoleum tile, every kid’s sneakers echoing in the corridor.
The morning bell is still humming the last note of its toll when I stride in, compad clipped to my hip, boots clicking down the wide hall with purpose.
The smell of cafeteria hash and freshly polished tile greets me, but it’s like background noise to the anger that's lighting up inside my chest.
I stop at the classroom door before the kids arrive, inhale the faint scent of chalk dust and colored markers leaking out under the gap, and I wait. I don’t knock. I don’t politely peek. I just step inside.
Jav’s sitting at his teacher’s desk, collecting papers.
His coat is off, sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms that look less like arms and more like road maps of every fight, every near-miss, every burst of adrenaline.
He looks up when I push the door closed behind me and the hollow click echoes louder than I expected.
“Morning,” he says, voice smooth. The fluorescent light overhead washes his face pale, but there’s something in his eyes—guarded. Waiting.
“Kairo,” he says — not a greeting, an acknowledgement. I take it.
I cross to stand in front of him. The kids stream past behind me, chattering, backpacks slung, the usual chaos of a mid-morning shift change. But here—between us—the noise turns muted, like someone turned the volume down so I can hear the fast pulse of my own worries.
“I want to talk. Now. Private.”
He nods, stands. “Where?”
“Here.” I motion to the empty Part-Time teacher’s office behind his classroom. “We’ll use your office. Please.”
He gives me a tight grin. “Fine.”
I lead the way, boots dragging slightly. I can taste the cold edge of fear in the air, metallic and sharp. In the office, the window blinds are half-closed, so beams of early sunlight slice in at odd angles and paint the dust motes gold. The room smells like old paper and eraser shavings.
I shut the door behind us. I lean against the teacher’s desk, arms crossed. My compad buzzes lightly in my pocket but I ignore it.
“Yesterday,” I say, eyes locked on his, “I saw him.”
He tenses. I don’t flinch. “Maliek. Haines. Whatever you call him. I saw him in the hallway.”
He looks away for just a second, then back. “Okay.”
“Was he visiting you on a personal errand? Or is Ben involved in something you’re keeping me out of?”
He stands straighter. The faint smudge of shadow under one eye—his rib-bruised side—makes him look tired. I can almost smell the hospital med-gel, antiseptic. It unsettles me.
“What happened?” I demand.
Jav runs a hand through his hair. “Look—I told you he was meeting Kairo. He had questions about Ben’s future, yes. He asked to talk. That’s it.”
“And you let him in here. In your workspace. In front of the kids.”
He exhales. “He waited outside the classroom. We talked quietly for a minute. I didn’t think it was a huge deal.”
“Not a huge deal?” I echo, voice low. I lean in. “You introduced him to a kindergartner yesterday. You were volunteering at recess. You let yourself be wrapped into this family picture you’re painting. And then someone with ulterior motives just strolls in and pries around your territory.”
He winces. “Ulterior motives? You don’t know his motives.”
“I know he doesn’t love Ben. I know he doesn’t belong here. At least—not in the way you do.”
He lifts a brow. “You don’t trust me.”
I don’t say it. I feel it though. The words hang in the air between us.
He steps closer. I smell his cologne—scent of sandalwood and something metallic, like gunshot residue washed with soap. It hits me harder than expected.
“Kairo,” he says softly. “I’m doing this for you and him. For us.”
I mouth the word us. Strange. Tinny. I clear my throat.
“You keep saying that,” I say. “But you still don’t trust me with the truth.”
His face flickers. A moment of hesitation. Then he closes it. “I trust you.”
“Do you?” I whisper. “Because I caught a lie. I asked if you’d been back in the life. You said no. I know you lied.”
Silence.
He doesn’t answer. The weight of the unspoken thing presses down like the lid of an old tomb. My breath feels thick in my throat.
“Because if you are back in the life…” I lean forward, voice rising just enough to make my pulse thunder, “then you’re dragging him in. And me. And our life. And I will not pretend to call that sacrifice anymore.”
Jav’s jaw sets. I see the flicker of anger in his eyes—not at me, but at the situation. The torn parts. The hidden corners.
“I’m not dragging you in,” he says. “I asked to be in.”
“You asked to be in because you were bored with out,” I spit. “You asked to be in because you found a soft landing. You asked to be in because you finally met someone who doesn’t want to rip you limb from limb the moment you slip.”
The room goes quiet. The only sound is the hum of the light, the flutter of the blinds, and my own ragged breathing.
He takes a step back. “That’s unfair.”
“I didn’t say fair,” I say. “I’m saying real.”
His face softens. “Kai—I’m trying.”
I shake my head. The chair squeaks behind me as I push off the desk and walk toward the door.
“But it doesn’t feel that way.”
“Can you…” he says, voice cracked. “Can you trust me enough to hear what I am doing? Not just what it looks like?”
I open the door, stepping into the hallway where the light is brighter and the lockers smell of plastic and old lunchboxes.
“Have the truth,” I say. “Give me the full truth. Then we’ll see.”
He nods. His expression resolves into something I cannot read—determination, fear, regret. Maybe all three.
But I walk away.
I don’t wait for his answer.
Later—I’m home, the apartment quiet except for the hum of the synth-fridge.
I open the living room and see Ben’s drawings piled high on the coffee table.
I slide the top one off—it’s the one of Jav as the clawed superhero.
The paper edges are jagged. The marker lines thick and eager.
The smile on the hero’s face wide. Proud.
I drop the drawing into my lap and stare at it.
I sense the weight of everything: the truth I’ve asked for, the lies I’ve accepted, the risk I’ve let him carry.
The drawing shifts in my hands as I lean back on the couch.
The texture of the paper rough under my fingers, the faint pigment smell of crayon strong in the air.
Ben’s asleep upstairs. I can hear the low buzz of his fan, the faint rustle of his blanket. I don’t call him. I just stay here, watching the superhero with claws.
This hero might not be real.
But the kid believes he is.
And I believe he should be.
What I don’t believe yet is that the hero belongs to our family.
Not fully.
And maybe that’s the real truth I need to face.
Compromise. Trust. Transparency.
Words I haven’t figured out how to live yet.
My compad buzzes again—Maliek. I ignore it.
I set the drawing aside, close my eyes. The apartment smells faintly of the evening air from the open window, a hint of lavender from the diffuser I forgot I bought. The hush of the space feels like a pause before storm.
I stand, walk to the window, pull the blinds up. The city lights stretch out like a net of gem-dots in the night. I grip the sill. My pulse hammers like I've run a mile.
I need to decide.
Run or face.
And the choice just got harder.