Page 42 of Alien Assassin's Heir

I hate that I notice.

Later, after I’ve bathed Solie and gotten her into bed—after reading her the same damn story about a talking moonfish and a bubble car for the third time—there’s a knock on the outer hatch. I freeze mid-step, hand tightening on Solie’s toy basket. My heart kicks against my ribs like it’s trying to escape.

Three short knocks. Then a pause. Then two more.

He used to knock like that, back in the IHC base housing where we had to keep things quiet.

I open the hatch.

Kraj stands there, holding a weathered cloth bundle. The faint scent of ozone and spice follows him in like a shadow. He doesn’t speak. Just unwraps the bundle and holds it out to me.

A desert fruit. Smooth, orange-red skin that glistens in the hallway light. Rare. Sweet. Expensive.

“It reminded me of you,” he says, voice low and rough like he’s afraid I might slam the door in his face again.

I want to.

But I don’t.

Instead, I open the screen wider. “Come on.”

We don’t sit inside.

I take him out to the narrow balcony that overlooks the dusty trade strip. The solar lamp flickers overhead, buzzing softly, casting our shadows like ghosts against the cracked stucco walls. I hand him a glass of reclaimed water, and we sit—side by side but not touching.

“You didn’t have to bring anything,” I murmur.

He shrugs, setting the fruit carefully on the table. “Didn’t know what else to give you.”

There’s a silence that settles between us, not quite comfortable but not hostile either. I find myself telling him about a broken water main last week, about how Solie tried to convince me there were lizard fairies living in the cabinets. He laughs—really laughs—and it’s not the low, sarcastic chuckle Iused to associate with his spy facade. It’s warm. Full-bodied. Like something human.

“You still sleep with the fan running?” he asks softly after a moment.

I blink.

“Yeah.”

“Even when it’s cold?”

“Especially then.”

He nods, a slow smile curling at the edge of his mouth. “You said the sound reminded you of ocean waves.”

I don’t remember telling him that.

I want to be mad that he remembers it at all.

But something in my chest aches instead.

I should end the night here.

Say goodnight, thank him for the fruit, send him back to whatever hole he’s sleeping in.

But I don’t get the chance.

The soft patter of tiny feet stops me.

Solie, pajama-clad and rubbing her eyes, steps into the doorway, her hair a wild halo of gold in the lamplight. “Mama?” she mumbles.