Page 67 of Alien Soldier's Heir

We coast in.

The black outside is darker than before. Like the stars forgot to come with us.

I’m floating in nothing.

I let myself feel it.

The loss.

The finality.

The fact that I will never see Nova again.

And she’ll never tell me why.

I press the locket to my lips. It smells like cold metal and old sweat. I whisper Swan’s name. Then hers.

Then nothing.

Because there’s nothing left to say.

I’m not Kaz anymore.

Not the one who painted porches and flirted with fire.

That version of me belonged to something. To someone.

This me’s just a ghost in training.

Flying deeper into black, hoping to outrun whatever still lives in my chest.

And maybe, someday, if the stars ever come back, I’ll remember what it felt like to burn.

CHAPTER 28

NOVA

The groceries spill out of my arms before I can stop them.

“Dar!” I yell, half-laughing, half-snapping, as a bag of sweetroots bounces down the apartment steps. My son barrels past me in a flash of golden curls and high-pitched giggles, chasing after it like he’s been shot out of a cannon.

“Slow down! You’re gonna give Mama a heart attack!”

He doesn’t. He never does. He’s Kaz’s son through and through—stubborn, bold, impossible.

“Maybe if you didn’t let him eat that third pastry,” Verzius drawls behind me, catching the last bag with one smooth clawed hand. He’s towering in his usual flowy lavender tunic, balancing a satchel over one shoulder like some spacefaring nanny-turned-fashion-icon.

“You said, and I quote, ‘He’s a growing boy. Let him enjoy himself.’” I scowl. “Don’t throw my words back at me, Verzius.”

“Darling, I only throw what’s deserved.”

He winks. I groan. Welcome to Thursday.

The apartment’s small, but it’s mine.

Rented with hard-earned credits from odd jobs and freelance consults. The kind that never quite pay on time, never quite cover the whole month, but keep us afloat. The walls are painteda soft bluish-gray, scuffed in places from Dar’s toy starships and Verzius’s long elbows. There’s no central heating, but we’ve got blankets and a flickering floor heater that smells vaguely of lemon cleaner.

Dar dives onto the couch, a crinkly snack bag in one hand and a toy pilot helmet in the other.