“Yes, little one. I am here.”
“I suppose we’ll need to start using that story,” Corinne said. “People will start asking questions when the baby comes. Better to have our answers consistent.”
He nodded, mind already working through the implications. They would need to be careful. Consistent. Make sure everyone who asked received the same story.
Mikoz was a half-human child, born of love and bonding but not the traditional Cire mating that produced pure bloodlines. It was a lie that held enough truth to be believable. And if it kept the Council away, kept his family safe, then it was a lie he would tell for the rest of his life.
The next weekpassed in a strange combination of vigilance and normalcy.
He spent hours going through the information Taranov had provided, cross-referencing it with his own intelligence sources and contacts still within the Patrol. Everything checked out. The Council was indeed searching for Cire children. They had teams operating throughout the sector. And their interest focused specifically on pure bloodlines.
Half-Cire children were noted in their databases but classified as non-priority. Interesting from a genetic research standpoint but not valuable for their breeding programs. The cold calculation of it made his skin crawl. But it also confirmed that Taranov’s strategy would work.
He started spreading the story carefully. Mentioned to Jarrek’s father that Mikoz was the child of a human woman who had died in captivity. Told the merchant at the supply shop that yes, his mate was expecting a half-Cire infant. The story spread naturally from there, the way information did in small communities. Within days, everyone seemed to know that the Cire commander had bonded with a human and was raising a mixed family.
Some approved, some didn’t, but no one questioned it. No one suggested the children were anything other than what Selik claimed.
And slowly, carefully, he began to relax his guard.
Not completely. He still checked the security systems multiple times per day. He still varied their routines and kept weapons hidden throughout the house. But he also allowed himself to enjoy the small moments. Mikoz taking more confident steps, eventually running more than walking. Anya diving into herstudies with renewed focus now that she wasn’t worried about being uprooted again. Corinne growing rounder and more beautiful with each passing day.
And one evening, as he watched Corinne teach Mikoz to stack blocks while Anya read aloud from one of her history texts, he felt something he hadn’t experienced in years.
Peace.
Not the absence of threat. Not the illusion of safety. But genuine peace born from the knowledge that he had done everything in his power to protect his family. That he had made the hard choices and accepted the necessary compromises. That he was no longer facing the world alone.
Corinne looked up from her game with Mikoz and caught his eye. “What?”
“Nothing. Just thinking.”
“About?”
“How fortunate I am.”
She smiled, the expression warming her whole face. “We all are.”
Mikoz knocked over his tower of blocks with a delighted shriek, then immediately started rebuilding it. Anya laughed at something in her text. Outside, the ocean waves provided a constant backdrop of sound.
Home, he thought. This was home.
And he would defend it with everything he had.
EPILOGUE
Three months later…
The contraction caught Corinne mid-sentence,her hand freezing on the teacup. She had brought Mikoz for a playdate with Wendy’s daughter Lissanne and stayed for tea. The two women had become good friends over the past few months.
Wendy immediately noticed her reaction. “Was that?—”
“False labor.” She breathed through it, counting seconds. “I’ve been having them for days.”
“How long did that one last?”
“I don’t know. Thirty seconds? A minute?” She set down the cup, waited for the tightness to pass. “They never follow a pattern. The midwife said it’s normal.”
Wendy’s expression suggested she wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t argue. She just watched silently as Corinne shifted in her chair, trying to find a comfortable position that didn’t existanymore. Nine months pregnant on a water world during the humid season was its own special kind of torture.
