It wasn’t a question. She sighed and nodded.
“At first, yes. She was used to having her father to herself. I tried not to intrude too much, but it’s hard to live in the same house and not disrupt someone’s routine.” She played absently with the hem on her shirt. “We were just starting to find a rhythm when David had a heart attack. It was very sudden.”
“I am sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” She swallowed hard. “Anya and I… we were grieving separately, you know? She blamed me a little, I think. Like if I hadn’t been there, if her father hadn’t remarried, maybe things would have been different. And then the Vedeckians came, and we got thrown together in the worst possible circumstances.”
“Yet you protected her.”
“Of course I did. She’s just a child. She lost her mother, then her father. I’m all she has left. I have to get her back home and make sure she has a chance at a normal life again.”
He was quiet for a long moment, his gaze unwavering.
“And what about what you need?”
The question hit harder than it should have. She’d been so focused on survival, on keeping the children safe, that she hadn’t let herself think about her own wants.
“I need to get Anya home. That’s enough.”
“Is it?”
Before she could answer, a soft cry came from the sleeping chamber. Mikoz, working himself up to a full wail. She started to rise, but Selik was faster, moving with that startling speed she’d noticed before.
“I will get him.”
She followed him into the sleeping chamber and watched as he carefully lifted Mikoz from the nest of blankets. The baby’s cries immediately softened, but he was clearly still fussy, his tiny face scrunched up in distress.
“He’s probably hungry.” She reached for him, but Selik had already settled the infant against his chest, one large hand supporting Mikoz’s head while the other rubbed gentle circles on his back.
“Shh, little one. You are safe.”
Mikoz’s tail wrapped around Selik’s wrist, and something in his expression shifted, softened. He began to hum, a low rumbling sound that she felt more than heard, and Mikoz’s cries faded to whimpers.
She stood there, transfixed, watching this huge alien warrior comfort a tiny infant with infinite gentleness. His tail had started moving in a slow, soothing pattern, and Mikoz’s eyes were already drooping.
“You’re good at that,” she whispered.
“I had practice once.” The words were barely audible, threaded with old pain. “A long time ago.”
He had a child. Of course he did. He was what, mid-forties at least? And he wore grief like a second skin, carefully controlled but always present. She wanted to ask, but the set of his shoulders warned her off. Instead, she watched as he swayed gently, continuing that deep humming sound until Mikoz went completely limp, fast asleep again.
Selik carefully lowered the infant back into the blankets, but he didn’t step away immediately. He stood there, looking down at the sleeping baby, and his expression was so raw that she had to look away.
“Selik,” she said softly. “Can I ask you something?”
“You may ask me anything, s’kara.”
“S’kara?”
The skin over his cheekbones darkened slightly. “It is a word from the Old Tongue. It means lovely.”
Flustered both by the heated look in his eyes and her response to it, she quickly returned to the original subject.
“Mikoz needs a home. A real home, with people who understand what he is and what he’ll need as he grows up.” The words hurt to say, each one scraping against her heart. “If I’m going to take Anya back to Earth…”
She couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t say out loud that she would have to leave Mikoz behind.
He looked at her, his black eyes unreadable.
