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“Rory,” Kara warned softly, “we don’t touch people without asking.”

But he found himself uncurling his tail and moving it within the boy’s reach.

“It is acceptable,” he said. “He may examine it if he wishes.”

Once again the boy lightly traced the patterns on his skin. The sensation was not unpleasant—quite the opposite. There was something soothing about the methodical way the child traced each line, his focus absolute. Kara came to join them and they stood in companionable silence, watching the stars drift past while Rory continued his careful examination of his tail. The moment stretched, unexpectedly peaceful, and he found himself relaxing.

There was something oddly comforting about their company—the quiet appreciation of the female, the innocent curiosity of the child. It had been… a very long time since he’d shared his space with anyone.

A soft rumbling sound interrupted his thoughts. He glanced down to see the child pressing a hand against his stomach, his lips pursed. A wave of dismay washed over him.

“You require sustenance.” How could he have been so negligent? “I failed to consider your needs.”

“It’s fine,” she assured him quickly. “We’re used to going without.”

Her words only intensified his discomfort. They were under his protection and he had let them go hungry.

“Unacceptable,” he stated firmly. “Follow me.”

He led them down to the small living area. The galley was tucked at one end behind a built-in dining table and a long couch and massive armchair occupied the other end. The space was utilitarian, designed for efficiency rather than luxury, but he’d added several items from his travels over the years.

“Do you have specific nutritional restrictions?”

She shook her head. “We’ll eat anything that’s not poisonous. At least I will. Rory’s a bit particular about textures, but we’ll manage.”

He nodded and set about preparing a simple meal. Most of his meals were functional rather than enjoyable—but there was something enjoyable about cooking for others.

As he worked, he became increasingly conscious of Rory watching him intently from a seat at the small table. The boy’s focus seemed fixed on Thraxar’s hands as they manipulated the food.

“Your son pays unusual attention to detail,” he said and she smiled.

“He notices everything. Patterns, routines, how things work—he absorbs it all.” Pride colored her voice. “He’s brilliant, just… different in how he experiences the world.”

He shrugged. “Different is not deficient. Many species value varied perception.”

“Not everyone sees it that way,” she said quietly.

“Then they lack vision.” He placed the food into serving bowls and carried it to the table, along with plates and utensils. “The meal is ready.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Kara watched as Thraxar prepared to serve their food. His huge hands moved with surprising delicacy as he portioned out food onto simple metal bowls. The galley was small but immaculate, every surface gleaming, every container precisely arranged—a level of order that reminded her of Rory’s careful arrangements.

He was working on one now—his attention fixed on the utensils before him. With intense concentration, he lined them up, adjusting each one until they formed a perfect parallel row. Then he dismantled the arrangement and began again, his small fingers working with deliberate care.

She tensed, sneaking a peek at Thraxar as she waited for the irritation that such behavior typically provoked in others. On the mining asteroid, she’d learned to quietly redirect Rory’s repetitive activities, knowing they made him a target for ridicule or worse.

But Thraxar merely glanced at Rory’s methodical arrangement, observing without judgment. He simply placed the bowls on the table without comment, giving the boy space to complete his ritual. Once Rory was satisfied with his arrangement, he studied the bowls, then pointed to one of them—a simple purée of some kind of vegetable with a smooth consistency. Thraxar placed a large scoop of it on Rory’s plate but made no attempt to serve him any of the rejected dishes.

“Is this sufficient?” he asked, his voice matter-of-fact.

She nodded, momentarily speechless at the casual acceptance. She watched as Rory happily consumed the purée, then helped herself to a portion from each bowl. The flavors were unfamiliar but not unpleasant—hearty and filling in a way that the mining colony’s meager rations had never been and accented with subtle spices.

“This is delicious. Thank you.”

“I am glad you are pleased. Both of you,” he added as he filled his own plate.

“What do you do?” she asked after several minutes of silence. “For work, I mean. You mentioned trading.”