Page 61 of Alien Assassin's Heir

CHAPTER 17

LUNA

The morning starts with hope.

I wake slow, curled against warmth that still smells of him—spice, smoke, and something sharper underneath that’s always been just Kraj. The sheets are tangled around my legs, the blanket kicked down to the floor. The room is bathed in pale-gold light from the rising suns, and I don’t feel the weight of dread dragging me upright.

Instead, I hear it.

Giggles. High, bubbling laughter from the next room.

“Not like that!” Solie squeals, and then comes the clatter of something on the counter, followed by her delighted shriek of, “You broke it!”

And then his voice, rumbling, amused. “Not broke. Just… modified.”

I sit up, hair a mess, my heart thudding with something dangerously close to happiness. The air is warm with the scent of sweetroot tea steeping, sharp and honeyed, mingled with the sizzle of pan-fried bread. My stomach growls, but it’s not hunger that makes my chest ache.

It’s this. This fragile illusion of family.

I pad into the kitchen barefoot, the floor cool under my toes. Solie sits on the counter, swinging her legs, a smear of flour across her cheek. She beams when she sees me.

“Mama, he tried to flip the bread and it wentwhooshall the way to the wall!”

Kraj shrugs, utterly unbothered, as he pours tea into chipped mugs. “I told her—improvisation is a skill.”

I lean against the doorway, watching them. My heart swells so full it hurts. For a fleeting moment, it’s everything I ever wanted. A home. A partner. A child safe and laughing in the morning light.

But illusions never last.

The sirens hit without warning. A long, piercing wail that rattles the windows, splitting the morning wide open.

I freeze. Solie clamps her hands over her ears, eyes wide.

Kraj reacts instantly, setting the mug down, pulling her into his chest. “It’s alright, little firefly,” he murmurs, his voice steady. But his eyes… his eyes are not steady at all.

The sirens fade into a voice over the emergency channel, bleeding through the old wall speakers.

“Attention, citizens of Wildwood. There has been an incident. A Combine executive traveling through our sector has been killed. Explosion. No survivors. Please remain calm and await further instructions.”

The words roll through me like ice water. My blood runs cold.

The holoscreen flares to life on its own, pulling from the central news net. Images flicker—flames tearing through a transport, black smoke spiraling into the sky. Security crews rushing. Panic rippling across the crowd at the crash site. The announcer’s voice trembles as she repeats the facts: Combine official. Explosion. No survivors.

I can’t breathe.

I turn my head, slowly, too slowly, to look at him.

He’s standing stiff, Solie still clutched to his chest, his eyes fixed on the screen. And in those molten depths I see something that curdles my stomach.

Recognition.

Not shock. Not horror.

He knew.

“Kraj?” My voice is a whisper, raw.

He doesn’t look at me. His jaw tightens. His grip on Solie tightens.