Page 191

Issa’s golden curls tangled with Safiyya’s tighter coils. Iyanda’s strong frame encircled them both, manifesting a love that endured time and exile.

His chest ached at the sight of it.

He had no siblings. No blood family left.

The concept of kin was foreign to him.

Still, he had the Riders, his ride-or-die. Twas where he had created his familial bonds, turning them into an unshaken and unbreakable force.

However, he’d often wondered what it’d be like to be surrounded by others who resembled you and carried your DNA, past and future.

After what felt like an eternity, Iyanda pulled back, stroking his jaw, staring at his sister, still half in disbelief. ‘You came home.’

Issa inhaled, then whispered, ‘I returned to you.’

Safiyya wiped her cheeks on her sleeve before glancing up at Ki’Remi, her gaze shifting from joy to brazen curiosity.

‘And who,’ she said, teasing, her lips curling in a knowing smirk, ‘is this?’

Issa chuckled, turning toward her man. ‘This,’ she said, grinning as she reached for his hand, ‘is Ki’Remi Sable.’

Iyanda’s brows arched, his star assessing, but twas Safiyya spoke first.

‘Ohhhh, you’retheKi’Remi?’ She tilted her head, examining him unabashedly. ‘The one who walked through the fire for my sister?’

Ki’Remi gave her a chin jerk. ‘I go where she does.’

Seconds later, his woman’s siblings enveloped him in a whirl of hugs, welcome, and acceptance, which seared a burn in his soul.

The kitchen became a whirlwind of joy, spices, and sizzling oils as Raquel and Iyanda took charge of breakfast.

Ki’Remi was ensconced in a chair, a mug ofkahawain his hand.

Eyes on Issa and Safiyya as the pair bickered over ingredients and played with recipes.

They were soon dusted in flour, their laughter sparking through the air.

In front of his incredulous gaze, the table filled with a feast.

Golden balls of fried dough, pillowy and warm, coated in powdered sugar and cinnamon.

Soft buttery chapati, stacked high, served alongside spiced beans cooked with tomatoes, garlic, and coriander.

Fried sweet plantains, caramelized to perfection, their edges crispy, and their centers molten.

Pomegranate seeds glistening like rubies under the morning light were scattered over fresh mango and pawpaw fruit bowls.

At the center stood a pot ofkahawa, brewed dark and bitter, its scent curling through the air in a rich, heady embrace.

Laughter spilled across the table, filling every space between bites of food.

As they ate, stories of Sivania unfolded, each tale more absurd than the last.

‘The gods,’ Iyanda drawled, ‘are, how do I say this, still annoying asfokk.’

‘Oh, please,’ Safiyya added with a waggle of her brows. ‘They are the epitome of exhausting.’

Ki’Remi smirked, intrigued. ‘Apart from the obvious and what we went through, why is that?’