Chapter 32
TAKHISS
He looks like her.
When he stirs, yawns, and opens his eyes in the soft dawn light, I see the curve of her nose, the slope of his brow, the same stubborn set of lips. But then his eyes flick—they linger on me a moment too long, unblinking—and I see something else.
Something cautious. Observing. Learning.
That unsettles me more than any blade.
I’m repairing the grav-stabilizer in the workshop, hands dirty, sleeves rolled. Sweat beads on my brow. The motor hums low, wires glowing red around the coils. Vex toddles in, uneven steps, clutching a marbled toy. He pauses at the doorway, watching me.
A spark pops from the coil—bright, loud.
A human child would flinch. Cry.
Vex doesn’t.
His head snaps toward the sound, tracking the arc of the spark until it hits the floor. His eyes dilate. He doesn’t make a sound. He just catalogs the threat level and dismisses it.
I freeze.
Ella is behind me, quiet as a shadow. I turn. She’s watching him, then me.
I ask, voice low, “Has he always tracked movement like that?”
She crosses her arms, defensive. “Like what?”
“Like a predator,” I say softly. “Fast. Unflinching. He tracks targets like a spotter.”
She looks down at Vex. “He’s attentive. That’s all.”
“It’s dangerous,” I press. “If I can see it, others will too. A magistrate. An officer.”
She stares at me, silence hanging heavy. “Then we teach him,” she says finally. “We teach him to pass.”
I nod slowly. But inside, I wonder if you can teach a hawk to blink like a dove.
I go silent often now, working deeper into the night. Forges hiss, metal sighs. I fix broken hover cab rails, line new circuits. I memorize street routes, shortcut alleys, power nodes. I map every inch of this home so no one can approach us unseen.
I learn the lullabies Ella hums to Vex. I hum them to him when he stirs.
I try to match her rhythm, her softness, the tick of her breathing in the dark.
Sometimes he drifts in sleep, and I sing low to him—old Coalition ballads of the Flame Spires, but slowed down, stripped of their war drums until they sound like peace.
He doesn’t cry.
I memorize that too.
Days pass. Market noises, engine clatter, humid sky. At dinner, her father and Marla are at the table. Ella ladles stew. I sit on the floor again, knees braced, preferring the anchor of the concrete. Vex sits in her lap, softly chewing.
The old man asks about routes. Marla asks where I wandered today. I answer both, carefully. My voice is steadier than before. I laugh occasionally—when he grumbles at a covered axle, when Ella teases me about oil in my hair.
She’s watching me. I catch the glance before she pulls away. Compassion. Fear. Love.
One night, Vex drifts to sleep early. Ella and I linger in the workshop, in the flicker of red core lights and circuit glow.
He wakes up and comes back in, little bare feet slipping across tools, wanting me. He toddles to my knees, looks up. I scoop him, cradle him. He rests his head against me. The weight is heavy, precious.
I feel the pattern. He learns my scent. Recognizes the thrum of my armor when I stand nearby. Watches the curve of my shoulders. Traces my shadow.
He isn’t just her son. He is reflecting me.
I look down at his face in my arms: the curve of his cheek, the crease at his wrist.
I whisper, “You are mine.”
Ella breathes next to me, hand resting on my shoulder. “Yes. He is.”
“That makes him a target,” I say, the thought finally surfacing.
Her grip tightens. “Then we make ourselves a fortress.”
Late that night, the house settles.
Ella sleeps in the bed, Vex in his crib beside her. The moon filters through broken blinds, casting silver bars across her skin. She looks peaceful. Soft.
I want to lie down beside her. I want to close my eyes and let the bond hum me to sleep.
But I don’t.
I pull my boots back on.
I grab the heavy wrench I’ve modified to be balanced like a vibro-blade. I step out into the hallway, silent as a ghost, and move to the front room.
I sit by the window that overlooks the street. The shadows stretch long. A hover-cab drifts by, too slow. I watch it until its taillights vanish.
Ella needs safety. Vex needs a future.
They can sleep.
I will be the monster at the door who makes sure nothing else gets in.