Page 127 of Alien Soldier's Heir

Dar runs in and launches himself onto the bed between us, clutching my arm like a lifeline.

“You’re not allowed to kiss Mama like that in front of me,” he announces. “Or ever again.”

Nova snorts. “Good luck with that, co-pilot.”

He huffs and curls into my side.

I wrap an arm around them both.

CHAPTER 52

NOVA

The porch creaks under my toes.

It always does. Kaz promised to fix that board six weeks ago, but I’m not holding my breath. Honestly? I think I’d miss the sound if he ever followed through.

The paintbrush twitches in my hand as I drag pale gold across the slatted railing. The color catches the last of the afternoon sun and glows like memory. I’m not painting for perfection. I’m painting for permanence. For roots.

Forus.

Dar shrieks somewhere behind me—half laugh, half battle cry. I turn just in time to see him rocket across the yard in a whirlwind of bare feet, his dragon cape flapping wildly behind him like it’s stitched from stars. Kaz follows a beat later, bent low in full mock pursuit, pretending to roar.

He’s shirtless, barefoot, gloriously sun-drenched. His braid’s come loose at the end, curling behind his ear, and he’s got grass stains all over his knees like he’s ten years old again.

Dar dives behind the old barrel chair.

Kaz halts dramatically. “Where’d he go? My co-pilot has vanished!”

Dar cackles. “I’m INSTEALTH MODE!”

“Oh no,” Kaz gasps. “He’s too powerful.”

They collapse into giggles, and I can’t help it—I grin so hard it aches.

This is what I fought for.

Not the uniform. Not the stars.

This.

I go back to painting, dragging the brush in slow, steady lines. The porch is still chipped in places—little scars from weather and years and too many unfinished promises. But I leave them.

I like it imperfect.

Footsteps climb the porch stairs behind me.

Then his voice, low and warm.

“I should’ve done a second coat.”

I don’t turn around. Just smirk and say, “I like it imperfect.”

Kaz’s hand grazes my lower back—casual but reverent, like he’s checking if I’m still real. I lean into the touch, and he leans in with me, pressing a kiss behind my ear.

“Dar’s passed out on the hammock,” he murmurs, voice low and amused. “I bribed him with frozen mango.”

I finally turn.