Chapter 45
KAZ
The hall outside Verzius’s apartment smells like grilled algae and too much perfume.
It’s quiet, save for the low hum of the ventilation system and Dar’s tiny boots smacking against the floor as he skips ahead of me, humming something tuneless and wild.
He’s got Nova’s rhythm and my volume, poor little bastard.
“Stay close,” I murmur, even though there’s no one around. He pivots in place like a fighter doing a loop, arms outstretched, and I catch him mid-spin.
“Whoa! Flight check failed, pilot.”
Dar giggles, flashing those ridiculous teeth of his—half human, half Vakutan, all trouble. “Emergency landing!” he declares, clinging to my leg like it’s part of the act.
I scoop him up without thinking, arms locking tight around his tiny frame.
We’re both a little sweaty from the long walk, and his head smells like some fruity soap Verzius probably buys in bulk, but under that is something familiar—something mine. Like burnt ozone and pine needles. Like memory.
“Let’s get you inside, starlight.”
He grins. “I like when you call me that.”
I blink. “Yeah?”
He nods solemnly, the way only a toddler can when they think they’re delivering divine truth. “It makes me feel big.”
Stars, kid. You’re already bigger than my whole damn universe.
Inside the flat, it’s dim and quiet. Nova’s hand-scanned me access to her quarters last night, though she didn’t say why. I think she knew. I think she’s always known this moment had to come, and she trusted me enough to do it right.
Dar wriggles in my arms. “Can I have cookies?”
“Not yet,” I say, voice soft. “First, can I tell you something cool?”
His brows shoot up like I just offered him a laser dragon.
“Is it about pirates?”
I chuckle. “No. Cooler.”
“Aliens?”
I shake my head, then carry him over to the little reading nook by the viewport. It’s shaped like a half-moon, the cushions sunken with use, Nova’s neat handwriting etched onto the side of the bookshelf in silver ink: To Dar, may the stars always listen.
I set him down gently and sit across from him, our knees touching. The glow from the starscape lamp overhead casts slow-rotating constellations across the walls. He always said they helped him sleep. I think they help him dream.
I take his tiny hands in mine. They’re sticky. Of course they are.
“Hey,” I say, swallowing a knot the size of a collapsed moon. “Can I tell you a secret?”
He leans in. “A real one?”
“The realest one I’ve ever had.”
His green eyes—Nova’s eyes—go round. “Okay.”
I hold his hands tighter. “I’m your dad.”
Dar stares at me.
Just stares.
Not the way I thought he would. No wide-eyed surprise. No tears or fear or confusion. He just... looks.
Then he blinks. “Duh.”
I jerk back like I’ve been shot. “What?”
He shrugs, completely unbothered. “You talk like me. And your ears are pointy too.”
I laugh. It starts as a chuckle, short and sharp, then something inside me breaks open like a decompression hatch. The air’s too thin. My chest’s too full. The sound tumbles out of me in huge, ragged pieces.
Dar watches with wide eyes as I keel sideways, clutching my stomach and howling. I can’t stop. I can’t stop. I laugh until it’s not laughter anymore—just air and salt and something too old and too raw to name.
My hands go to my face. Wet. Gods, I’m crying.
I don’t even care.
Dar crawls into my lap without hesitation, like this is just what we do now, like my arms are home.
“Why’re you leaky?” he asks, pressing a chubby hand to my cheek.
“Because I’m happy, starlight,” I whisper, voice wrecked. “Because I never thought I’d get to hold you like this.”
He hugs me tighter, chin digging into my collarbone. “You can always hold me. I’m fast but I’m not faster than you.”
Stars save me.
I bury my face in his hair and breathe him in like oxygen.
A soft creak from the hallway. I don’t need to look.
Nova’s there. I can feel her.
I glance up and catch her watching us from the doorway, arms folded, eyes wet but shining. She’s not moving. Just standing there like if she steps forward, the moment might dissolve. Like she doesn’t want to wake the dream.
Her hand presses to her chest, right over her heart. That’s all the movement she makes.
I hold Dar a little tighter.
“You wanna help me with something?” I ask.
Dar nods eagerly.
“We’re gonna make a pillow fort. You and me. But shh, we can’t let the instructor know.”
His eyes go wide with mischief. “A stealth op?”
I grin. “Exactly.”
We pull every blanket from the couch, every cushion off the chairs. Dar drags a lampshade across the room before I intercept it.
“Not the lighting rig, little gremlin.”
He giggles, rolling in a sea of fabric. The stars from the lamp overhead shift as we build, casting slow-moving galaxies on our faces. I wedge a pillow under his belly and declare it “the bridge,” and he salutes.
“Captain Dar ready for duty!”
Nova steps in finally, voice soft. “Permission to come aboard?”
Dar spins. “Only if you have cookies.”
She smirks. “Always.”
She disappears into the kitchenette and returns with a handful of tiny star-shaped biscuits. Dar cheers and grabs two, one for himself and—without prompting—one for me.
My throat tightens all over again.
We pile into the fort, the three of us squeezed under the blanket roof, starlight spinning above. Nova curls to my right, Dar nestled between us, already blinking slow and soft.
He yawns.
“I wanna sleep here forever,” he murmurs.
Nova kisses his temple. “You can, baby.”
His breathing evens out, soft and rhythmic. A small hand curls around my thumb.
Nova watches me over his head.
Her voice is almost too quiet to catch. “You told him.”
I nod. “He already knew.”
Tears shimmer in her eyes. “Of course he did.”
We lie in silence for a long while, listening to Dar’s dreams whisper through the dark.
Then I whisper, voice raw and honest and breaking open all over again, “I’m staying.”
Nova turns to me, eyes wide.
“I don’t care what the Alliance says. I don’t care about contracts or missions or black ops wormhole programs. I have everything I ever wanted right here.”
She stares at me for a moment, lips parted like she’s about to say something monumental. Then she leans in, hand sliding across the blanket to mine.
“You better mean that, Vakutan,” she murmurs.
I meet her eyes.
“I’ve never meant anything more.”
Outside the fort, the stars keep turning.
But inside?
Inside we’re finally still.