Chapter 37
KAZ
Dar’s got peanut butter on his cheek and juice in his hair, and Verzius looks like he’s five seconds from opening the nearest airlock.
“I swear to the Void, this child is part cyclone,” Verzius mutters, trying to wipe Dar’s face with one hand while rescuing a sippy cup from hitting the floor with the other. “Nova owes me two drinks and a vacation after this.”
Dar giggles and twists away like it’s a game.
“Hold still,” Verzius huffs. “You got jam in your eyebrows. How does that even happen—are you marinating in your food now?”
I lean against the doorway, arms crossed, grinning.
“I see the kid’s running drills on you.”
Verzius glances up, exasperated. “You wanna help or just critique?”
“I’m enjoying the show, honestly.”
Dar spots me and lights up like a starburst. “Kaz!”
And just like that, he launches himself off Verzius’s lap, sprints across the nanny station’s padded floor, and barrels into my legs. I catch him easily. He wraps his arms around my shin like I’m some kind of giant jungle gym and laughs like it’s the best part of his day.
Something sharp twists under my ribs.
I crouch and ruffle his curls. “You’ve been terrorizing the staff again?”
Dar nods proudly. “He say I chaos.”
“You are chaos,” Verzius mutters behind us. “A genetically engineered whirlwind.”
I snort. “He’s got his mother’s attitude.”
Verzius raises a brow. “And someone’s stubborn DNA.”
I freeze.
Dead stop.
Something in his tone—something too pointed, too knowing—claws at my spine.
“What?” I say, too quietly.
Verzius blinks. Opens his mouth. Closes it.
“Kidding,” he tries. “Just... y’know, you both have the same glare.”
“Verz.”
He winces.
I stand slowly, lifting Dar into my arms. He settles easily against my side, like he’s been doing it for years. Like it’s second nature.
“Say it again,” I whisper.
Verzius holds up both hands. “Kaz—”
“He’s mine, isn’t he?”
The silence that follows is loud.
Dar tugs at the zipper on my flight vest. “Snacks?”
I can’t even answer.
Verzius exhales like he’s been holding the secret in his lungs for months.
“She was going to tell you.”
“When?”
“She didn’t know how,” he says. “She thought... you hated her. That you’d left because—”
I shut my eyes. Tight.
Everything tilts. The floor feels like it’s giving way under me. My hand tightens around Dar without meaning to, and immediately I shift him, make sure he’s steady, safe. He rests his head on my shoulder, unbothered. Warm.
Mine.
He’s mine.
“She should’ve told me,” I whisper.
“I know.”
I don’t yell.
I don’t punch anything.
I just hand Dar gently back to Verzius, who takes him without another word.
And then I walk.
Out of the nanny station.
Down the corridor.
Past the flight deck.
Out into the blistering light of a late-shift sky that feels too bright for how dark everything’s gotten in my chest.
The comm tower looms above the hangar bay like a sentinel, its glass face gleaming under the sun. I don’t even realize I’m heading toward it until I’m already there, hand on the doorframe.
I don’t want to think.
But I do.
I think about the way Dar clung to me without hesitation. The way his laugh sounds like Nova’s. The way he looked at me that first night like he knew me.
All those moments I didn’t question.
All those smiles I didn’t understand.
I was holding my son.
And I didn’t know.
I let myself fall into this second chance, thinking it was some cosmic redo.
Turns out it was a lie wrapped in a silence Nova didn’t trust me enough to break.
I don’t know why I walk into Stark’s hangar next.
Maybe because I need a target.
I need to hit something and he always gives me a reason.
He’s at the central console, back to me, analyzing something on a split-screen of anomaly patterns. The wormhole models flicker with false success.
He doesn’t turn when he hears me.
“Bad day?” he says, grinning without looking.
I don’t answer.
Just step closer.
My fists ball at my sides.
I want to swing.
Hard.
Right across his smug face.
But I don’t.
He turns slowly, and the grin fades when he sees my expression.
“Well. That’s not your usual broody stormcloud look. What happened—Verzius call your kid a gremlin again?”
I flinch.
He catches it.
Raises a brow.
“No,” I say.
Then I turn and walk out.
Before I make a mistake.
Before I give him something to use.
I head for Nova’s quarters like my body’s moving on instinct.
The hallway’s quiet. Too quiet. Like even the air knows something’s about to break.
I key the panel.
Locked.
Of course.
I override it. She gave me clearance. Weeks ago. When things were still good. Before I knew.
The door slides open.
Empty.
The lights are dim, casting long shadows across the floor. The blanket on the couch is rumpled. A mug sits on the edge of the table, half-full, gone cold.
But what wrecks me is the toy on the floor.
Dar’s.
A tiny plastic skiff—scuffed from too many crash landings, the front decal half peeled.
I kneel beside it.
Pick it up.
Turn it over in my hand.
It’s light.
Fragile.
Like the truth I just learned.
The years we lost.
And suddenly I’m not angry anymore.
I’m just tired.
Broken.
Wrecked in a quiet way.
I sit on the floor, toy in hand, and let the silence crawl up my throat.
She kept him from me.
And I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive her for that.
But I know I still love her.
Which makes it worse.
Because now?
I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do with all of it.