Chapter 36
NOVA
It starts small.
A moment.
A glance.
The sound of Dar’s laugh echoing down the corridor, high and unguarded and so goddamn happy it stops me in my tracks.
Kaz is crouched beside him at the console bay—one of the older drone simulator rigs I’ve been meaning to decommission but never got around to. He’s got Dar on his lap, the controls clutched in tiny hands, guiding a clunky quad-copter through pixelated jungle terrain on-screen.
“You’ve got a knack for this,” Kaz says, pointing at the throttle.
Dar giggles. “Faster?”
“You wanna go faster?” Kaz leans in, mock-conspiratorial. “Gotta pull back at just the right—yep, like that—look at you!”
I should feel proud.
Instead, I feel like my chest’s caving in.
Because it’s too easy. Too natural. Dar didn’t even blink when Kaz walked in. Just lit up like his whole body knew something his brain hadn’t figured out yet.
I turn away before they spot me.
I head for the tower—legs moving fast like I can outrun the realization clawing up my throat.
The flight tower’s quiet. It always is mid-cycle, when the engineers are between runs and the flight logs are syncing. The console hums softly, backlit with blue. I rest my hands on the edge of the screen and let my forehead touch the glass. Cool. Steady.
I breathe.
In. Out.
Try to find the rhythm again.
But my mind’s spinning.
Kaz has no idea. None.
But he felt something. I saw it in the way he looked at Dar. Not just curious. Not just polite. Familiar.
I clench my jaw.
If he pushes—even a little—I don’t know if I’ll be able to lie convincingly. Not to him. Not now.
A knock snaps me out of it.
Verzius. Leaning in the doorway like the damn universe sent him just to remind me how badly I’m messing this up.
He raises an eyebrow. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I might as well have.”
He walks in without asking. Pulls a chair over. Doesn’t sit.
“What’s going on?”
I don’t answer.
He waits.
He always waits.
Suddenly, low and tight, I say, “Dar and Kaz… they—”
“Connected?” he finishes for me. “Fast?”
I nod.
Verzius crosses his arms. “Not surprising.”
I glance up. “Why not?”
“Because the kid’s smart. And Kaz has a brain and a heart, which puts him in rare company around here.”
I stare at the floor. My voice is barely audible. “If he finds out—”
“What? That you kept his kid from him for five years?”
I flinch.
He doesn’t let up.
“You think you’re protecting him by keeping this secret?”
“I’m protecting Dar,” I snap.
Verzius leans forward, voice sharper now. “You’re protecting yourself. Don’t twist it.”
I glare at him. “You don’t know what I’ve been through.”
“I don’t have to.” His tone softens, just slightly. “But I know what it looks like when someone’s lying to survive. And I know what it looks like when someone’s just… scared.”
I want to hit him.
I want to cry.
I do neither.
Instead, I push up from the console, arms tight across my chest.
“He’s going to figure it out.”
“Yeah,” Verzius says. “He is.”
And then he leaves.
Just like that.
I lie to Dar the next morning.
Again.
He asks where Kaz is. If he’s coming back. If he can play the drone game again. His little hands mimic the flight controls as he talks, eyes wide, hopeful.
I tell him Kaz is busy.
Again.
I tell him Kaz is probably training or fixing a ship or saving the base from some invisible emergency that only adults understand.
Dar nods, but it chips something off me every time.
Because Kaz isn’t busy.
He’s here.
He keeps showing up.
Little things, at first. Offering help with diagnostics. Rewriting a few nav protocols. Running sim drills with the younger recruits.
But then he starts waiting after shifts. Walking with me. Making me laugh—God, it’s infuriating how fast he can still do that. One sideways look. One crooked smirk. One memory dragged out of the dust and suddenly I’m seventeen again, hopeless and raw and wanting everything I swore I’d buried.
He makes it so hard to keep the wall up.
And I need the wall.
Because if it falls—if he sees through it—it’s all over.
That night, I tell myself I’m just passing through the hangar. Just grabbing a report.
But my steps slow at the observation deck.
I see them before they see me.
Kaz is sitting cross-legged on the floor, Dar perched on his knee. The sim screen’s been split—one side for Kaz, one for Dar. They’re flying matching drones through a canyon course, weaving through obstacles like it’s the most serious mission on the planet.
Kaz whoops when Dar beats him to a checkpoint.
Dar squeals, slapping the console.
I watch as Kaz tousles his hair.
Something in my chest shatters.
I press my hand to the glass, watching them like I’m a stranger to both.
This isn’t fair.
It’s everything I ever wanted and everything I was terrified to hope for. Kaz’s laugh. Dar’s joy. The way they mirror each other without even realizing it.
I should be happy.
I should be running down there, dragging Kaz into a hug and blurting out the truth through tears and apologies.
But I don’t.
I just watch.
Frozen.
Torn.
Because part of me wants to protect this moment forever.
And part of me knows it can’t last.