“Finally. She fought it.”
“She gets that from Corinne.” She glanced up at him and smiled. “The stubborn thing.”
“And Mikoz gets it from where?”
“Also Corinne.” Her smile widened. “You’re too calm to be stubborn. You just do what you want without making a fuss about it.”
He couldn’t argue with that assessment.
“Do not stay up too late,” he said.
“I won’t. Just need to finish this calculation.” She turned back to her work, then paused. “Hey, Selik?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you. For keeping us safe. For everything.”
The words caught him off guard. Anya rarely spoke about the past or about what could have happened if he hadn’t found them that night.
“You do not need to thank me.”
“Yeah, I do.” She met his gaze, her face serious. “You didn’t have to take us in. You didn’t have to care. But you did, and… I’m glad. That’s all.”
His chest tightened with emotion. “I am glad too.”
She nodded, embarrassed now, and quickly turned back to her datapad. He left her to her work and headed downstairs.
The main living area was tidy—or as tidy as a house with three children could be. Toys stacked in baskets, Mikoz’s latest art project stuck to the cooling unit with magnets, a pile of Anya’s datapads on the table beside a stack of Corinne’s books. Evidence of family life.
He moved to the window and looked out at the ocean. Both moons were full tonight, painting silver paths across the water. Their boat rocked gently at the dock, ready for tomorrow’s fishing trip.
This was home. This quiet water world, this simple house, this life. A home he’d thought he’d lost forever when the Red Death took his first mate and daughter. He’d believed that happiness was gone, and that the best he could hope for was a purpose to fill the emptiness. But he’d been wrong.
Corinne had shown him that. She had stumbled into his life, into his arms, and changed everything. She was fierce and soft all at once. Terrified but brave. Willing to cross deserts and face aliens and make terrible choices for the ones she loved. And somehow,impossibly, she’d chosen to love him—a damaged warrior with too much grief and too little hope. She’d chosen him anyway, and she’d given him a family, a home, and a second chance at happiness he’d done nothing to deserve.
They had built a life together brick by brick, day by day. And now they had three children and a home and a future. Everything he’d thought was lost forever.
He moved through the kitchen, straightening chairs that didn’t need straightening, wiping a counter that was already clean. It happened sometimes, a restless energy he couldn’t quite shake, the feeling that their happiness was too precious, as if he needed to guard it every moment or it would slip through his fingers.
He knew it was irrational. He knew Corinne was safe upstairs, probably reading while she waited for him, and he knew the children were healthy and whole and protected, but the fear lingered anyway. A shadow he couldn’t quite outrun.
The house creaked softly around him, settling into night. Outside, the ocean whispered against the shore.
He thought about his first mate, Kessa. Thinking about her had hurt for such a long time, but the pain had eventually subsided to a dull ache. And sometimes, in quiet moments like this, he thought he could feel her approval. Like she was somewhere watching, glad he’d found happiness again. The thought brought him peace.
He moved back through the living area, climbed the stairs quietly. The house remained silent, everyone asleep except his mate. She was propped up in their bed, intent on her datapad. She’d changed into one of his old shirts, and as always, the sightof her in his clothing caused a flare of possessive pride—which of course was why she wore them.
Her hair was loose around her shoulders, and when she looked up and smiled at him, he was struck once again by her beauty.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes. Just checking on everyone.”
“And?”
“All asleep. Except Anya, naturally. Although she assured me she was almost done.”
“Good.” She set aside the datapad, patted the bed beside her. “Come here.”
